SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!
"Rise an' shine, shrimps!" Snyder yelled, jabbing the ceiling of the floor directly below with a walking stick.
Specs awoke with a start, momentarily forgetting where he was. He was scrunched in a lower bunk, clutching his thin sheets close to his body. Facing him, leaning on the other headboard of the mattress was a sleeping, much younger boy with tan skin and dark hair who everyone called Tim. He didn't talk much. At least, he hadn't since Specs had gotten here. Sun-faded and peeling wallpaper covered the walls, from the ceiling to the scuffed wooden floor. They were striped - wait a second. No, it wasn't striped. Marching patterns of ants lined the right wall. A vague stench of sweat on unwashed clothes spread around the room. There were two rows of three white-sheeted bunk beds crammed into the stuffy dormitory (with barely enough room to walk between them), each currently inhabiting two to four boys.
"Hey, whaddya know?" One boy asked. Specs' head twitched up to a shaggy black-haired boy in the parallel upper bunk. He seemed and sounded about sixteen, though his face looked dark and somewhat grim with age. He had a bad cut on his lower lip. His arms were crossed over the short rail and he leaned forward, sizing Specs up. "Barely noticed we got a new guy."
Specs withheld a shudder.
"First time 'ere?" The boy prodded between drags of a burnt cigarette butt. He, like all of the other boys, was in loose-fitting white unitard pajamas.
"Jus' look at 'im! You can tell he's a softie," Another ridiculed from the bunk to his right. He was ginger-haired with more freckles than plain skin. Specs instinctively tried to sit up a little taller. "'Ey, Sam, five of 'em smokes is talkin' ta me," The boy said.
"Oh yeah?" Sam asked, releasing a grey wisp into the air out of the corner of his mouth. "What's they sayin'?"
"He's gonna crack before sundown. Cryin' for 'is mom."
"I dunno, Red, took a lot to get these in past Spider," He contemplated. "Your pillow's seemin' awfully chatty this mornin'. It says he'll make it to day three."
"Fine. Your loss," Red said, turning to immediately get into an argument with the kid next to him for hogging the bed.
"Was it the strike?" Sam asked a completely silent Specs.
"Yeah," He answered.
"So, a newsie, huh?" Sam casually leaned back from his hunched position. "I used to do that when I was a kid. We jus' got anudda one fresh from the strike too." He flicked his cigarette hand to the side. "Little further down the line. The crip."
Specs tried to lean out into the aisle and sure enough, there was a wooden crutch under a bed not too far away, with the pathetic shreds of a tattered "STRI" banner still attached. But there was no movement from the cot beside it.
"Poor guy," Sam reflected, shaking his head. "Snyder cut 'im up real bad." He turned his head back to Specs. "Know 'im?"
Specs nodded. Without another word, he slowly climbed out of the bunk and made his way down the cramped aisle, accompanied by the groans of a dozen or so waking boys.
"And keep it quiet!" Snyder shouted, jabbing the ceiling once more. Specs nearly jumped. The others hushed, still chattering softly amongst each other.
Finally, he passed by his friend's bunkmate as he rose and walked over to a buddy further down the line. A weak figure laid in the nearby bed crumpled inward, facing the wall. Bruises nearly painted the arms he had placed in front of his face. Other than that, Specs couldn't see anything more than his mess of blonde hair and stretched out, old pajamas.
"Crutchie," Specs called in a gentle whisper.
No response.
"'Ey, Crutchie, it's me," He tried again.
"...Me who?" Crutchie mumbled carelessly, nuzzling his face into the mattress.
Concern crept into Specs' voice. "Come on, Crutchie. It's ya friend, Specs."
"Specs," Crutchie repeated numbly. Then, with a tired slur: "What... what are you doin' here?"
The boy crouched down by the other's side. "Got pulled in after last night. The wagons...Please tell me ya remember."
"Of course I do," Crutchie replied. Then he was silent.
"You... you don't look so good, Crutch," Specs told him, laying a hand on his back. Crutchie immediately tensed, cinching up his shoulders and scaring Specs' hand away. Then, he slowly began turning over, wincing with every other movement. The effort he put in was painful to watch. His face and neck were sheets of ice, stained by the purpled, poisoned skin inflating around his right eye and a slash of crusting brown blood across his left cheek. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see his friend's reaction.
"That Snyder guy's a real sweetie, ain't he?" He croaked out with a weak twitch at the corner of his mouth that died quickly.
"Oh, hell..." Specs tried to keep from cringing.
"Yeah, I know, an' I look like it too," Crutchie replied. "But I'll be okay. Jus' gimme a sec or two to wake up a bit..."
"You're not okay," Specs said. "This... this ain't right. Who does Snyder think he is?"
"Aw, wah wah, the gimp gotta boo-boo!"
Specs stood straight up to face the scrawny boy in the bunk above. His rib cage easily showed through his clothes. He sat cross-legged, etching some letters into the wooden rails of his bunk with an iron nail. "News flash, Window Face: No one gives a damn about you anymore. We're jus' yesterday's paper, crumpled up an' left for dead."
"Ricky," Sam warned from across the room. "Let's try not to depress New Guy already."
"New Guy, Shmew Guy, he's gonna learn sooner or later," Ricky replied with a passive wave. Then, he momentarily abandoned the nail and faced Specs dead-on. "It's jus' the truth. Even old Teddy was fooled when he came ta visit. But we all know it. The more kids Snyder keeps, the bigger his chunk of change from the city. He don't care if they really belong here or not. I been here for amost a year now for stealin' from a bakery. There's no real sentence, even if it's court-ordered. You's trapped in here 'til ya brain rots out. Then, when you finally lose it, they toss you back out onta the streets stripped of everything."
"Rick!" Sam shouted.
"Oh, don't you go callin' bull, Sam, you know that happened ta Herbie!"
Specs tried to ignore them out and crouched down once more to address Crutchie, whose eyes were still glued shut.
"Don't listen ta 'em," Specs said. "The strike's gotta wrap up soon. Our boys'll win. They gotta let us out then."
"Sure, but..." Crutchie took in a large breath before opening his eyes. They glistened with sorrow. He shook his head. "Y-ya... ya didn't hear Jack!"
"Jack?"
"He tried ta come in last night." Crutchie gestured to the window at the end of the aisle, displaying the sun rising over the awakening city. "On the escape. Kept poundin' on the glass. Everyone ignored him, an'..."
His grime-soaked hands curled up into fists. His eyes squinted in frustration.
"I... I couldn't make it over there. I tried to. I swear I did. But everythin' hurt. Turned ta see him on 'is way out, though. By the look on his face," He sighed and loosened back up. "You could tell that we were absolutely screwed."
Specs glanced back up at Sam, who was failing to pacify a worked-up Ricky.
"It's too early for this, Rick!"
"Oh, come now, facts are facts! The newsie deserved a truth for once!"
Crutchie closed his eyes once more; trying to block out the pain, trying to block out the words.
"This is the city's human dumpster, an' you know it!"
"Don't talk like that!" Sam called back. "You're scarin' the crip!"
"Stop it, both of you!" Specs yelled.
"I told you kids to shut up!" Snyder roared. "I'm comin' up there!"
Crutchie's nose went back into his pillow. He looked like he wanted to hide under the covers and just disappear.
We're jus' yesterday's paper, crumpled up and left for dead.
That's it, Specs thought. Guess I'm on my own now. Even his most encouraging friend's spirits seemed to be shattered like glass, and how was he supposed to put faith back into the most optimistic guy he knew?
"In short, welcome to hell!" Ricky announced loud and clear just to spite Sam. "Enjoy your stay!"
...
When Katherine opened the door to Medda's dark theater and led them back out onto the streets, the sun was high in the bright sky, and the boulevard was as busy as ever. Jack wrung his apron in his hands, feeling the warm rays of the late-morning sun on his bare shoulders, and sighed. Katherine, to his right, gave him a silent glance of uncertainty, almost to ask, "Are you okay?" He barely saw her before he nodded with a solid glare forward. His boys were waiting for him in "Newsies Square," as they called it, where many of them met up midway through a day of paper-peddling to exchange tips on better selling spots or tourist flow. Now he just had to face them again after taking off last night.
"We were all worried sick 'bout you, Jack," David said.
"I know," Jack replied. "But they might get ticked about me runnin' out and bein' gone so long. As soon as they figure out my head isn't on Joe's silver platter, they'll want it on theirs."
Katherine patted Jack on the back. "They'll be plenty glad to see you. Trust me."
The newsies swarmed the middle of the square, centered around the copper figure of Horace Greeley atop a hot concrete pedestal.
Les bolted ahead towards the statue. David reached out and was about to chase after him, but Jack set a hand on his friend's arm.
"Hey guys!" Les leapt up onto the platform, pointing to the three others. "Captain Jack's back!"
Almost all heads snapped around, and the boys started approaching from every angle.
"Jack?"
"We thought ya ditched us!"
"The hell were ya, Buddy?"
"He came back!"
"What happened?"
"I knew he weren't gone for good!"
Elmer struggled his way directly in front of Jack, who was being peppered with questions, most of them he just ignored altogether. "Glad you're back," he said with a pat on his shoulder. "Where were ya? You wasn't at the Refuge, were you?"
"Not locked up," he answered. Kind of eager to change the subject, he continued: "But Crutchie is. Think I saw Specs in there too. They musta caught them last night"
The other newsies heard this and made hushed reactions. Elmer's enthusiasm transformed to frustration. "Bastards."
"We'll finda way to get 'em," Jack assured him. "But for now, we gotta plan our next stage of attack. Gimme a little time. Tell the boys to meet me in front 'a the Lodgin' House in fifteen. Dave and I'll figure somethin' out by then."
Elmer nodded. "You heard the guy, give 'em some time!" He called to the others as he walked away. "Lodging House in fifteen!"
"Anymore bright ideas?" David asked, turning to Jack, in a strange tone that made it seem like he didn't really need an answer. Katherine and the boys were reluctantly dispersing.
"Somethin' tells me you've already got one," Jack replied.
David nodded. "But not without your help. The rally we talked about earlier in the strike?" He gestured to the theatre. "We can hold it right there, in Medda's, with newsies from all over. The papes got us attention, and..."
"An' even a stubborn ass like Spot Conlon's gotta turn 'is head," Jack finished, catching onto the plan. "An' he'll bring the rest of Brooklyn with 'im."
"And with Brooklyn comes the rest of New York," David agreed. "It needs to happen as soon as possible, while we still have the upper hand. Maybe tomorrow. I'm just not too sure how we can get the word out so quickly."
"Leave that to me," Jack insisted. "When we round up the boys, I'll send 'em out again."
"Come on, David."
A totally serious Jules walked up to David from behind and patted his shoulder aggressively.
"What? Where?" He asked.
"Outta here," Jules simply answered, almost like a command. "I'm tryin' ta be patient, but I jus' can't stand sittin' in this sty for another damn second. I need to get out there an' look for Smalls before somethin' happens to 'er. You comin'?"
Davey glanced almost apologetically at Jack, who was pretty confused. Did they make up? What happened to Smalls? And Davey wasn't afraid of Jules... was he?
"Listen, Jules, Jack and I just need to go over a couple of things-"
Jules turned, noting the boy's presence for the first time. She nodded casually in acknowledgement. "Ah. Kelly. So you didn't desert us after all."
"Yeah," he replied. "I didn't." This only added to the confusion. Jules was actually starting to talk like part of the crew. Jack was beginning to feel like he missed a lot in twelve hours.
Jules raised an eyebrow at the cold edge on his answer, but dropped it when addressing David again. "Okay, suit yourself, but I'm goin' with or without you. She can only be so many places, right? So I gotta hit juvy jus' in case, and probably the..."
She faltered, watching a half-grin spread on David's face, his eyes fixed somewhere just behind her head. She sighed. "Okay, look here, Wise Guy, I don't need you goin' off on-"
"Julia Howell!" A voice right next to her ear declared in an almost demonically distorted, low voice.
Jules' heart leaped and she spun around. "Ah! Son of a-" She had to look down to find the source of trouble.
She saw a hat-less Smalls looking back up at her, clearing her throat from the racking of producing such a startling sound.
"I take it you missed me?" She asked.
"Smalls, you little- gah!" She yelled, exasperated. "Jesus, you dummy! Where were you? Never mind that, just...Oh my God, you're such a stupid kid."
"Yeah," Smalls assessed. "You missed me."
"Dear God..." Jules hugged Smalls so hard she could've suffocated. "Never ever do that again, you retarded little brat. Ever."
"I'm sorry, okay?" Smalls said as she pulled away, laughing the subtlest amount. "Don't hafta treat me like a kid. I'm fine."
"Great." Jack clapped his hands, turning away. "You two are happily reunited. Now if you'll excuse me an' Dave, we got some things ta discuss."
"Wait. Specs."
Jack turned. "What about 'im?"
Smalls just looked at him. It was a glance with a glimmer of pleading, with a glimmer of hope.
"Oh, Kid..." Jack suddenly said in realization, scratching his head through his cap.
Jules put her hand on Smalls' back from behind. "He'll be back."
Smalls stepped forward, dragging away Jules' touch. She knew something was wrong. "I don't need that. Jus' tell me. Right now."
David exchanged a brief look with Jack. "Jack says he saw him last night. At the Refuge."
Smalls had to will herself to keep from trembling. This couldn't be real. She just couldn't imagine... "Specs? In the Refuge?"
"He hadn't gotten beaten or anything," David assured her, glancing again at Jack for validation. He shook his head.
"Why didn't you do somethin'?" Smalls asked. "You were there, Kelly! You coulda broken 'im out."
"I would've if I could've," Jack said, more bitter than regretful. "Specs is my friend too, and even Crutchie was in there. But it's jus' not that simple."
Smalls opened her mouth to counter but decided against it. Jack had been through the Refuge too, and probably for much longer than the few weeks that she had. His escape wasn't nearly as easy as Smalls' was, but he knew exactly what he was talking about.
David broke the silence. "They're both major members of the team," He said. "Two of the most spirited. But we have to keep moving without them. We'll win them back. You'll see."
Smalls nodded understandingly, though the image just didn't fit right in her head. She just had never thought to associate sweet, clownish Specs with the hellhole of her childhood.
Jules set a hand on Smalls' shoulder. "Shortie, come on. The boys have 'things to discuss'."
Smalls wanted to snap. Wanted to give just a little bit of defiance. Wanted to sit Jules down and tell her everything bouncing around in her head and demand a bit of patience. But Jules just didn't understand. She wouldn't understand the harmful environment of the Refuge. She wouldn't understand the effect it had on people.
She would never understand how much poor Specs meant to Smalls in this moment.
"Okay," She relented.
Jules gave a subtle glance of gratitude at David that said "Thank you thank you thank you that could've gone a hell of a lot more worse."
Little did she know the plan Smalls was beginning to formulate in her head.