Fawkes lit out. She didn't stop running until she could see water. And even then she didn't stop till she was knee-deep.
She hadn't even been in the City a day and not only had she run into Snyder, he remembered who she was. The only person in this town with a memory, apparently, and the one person she wished would forget her.
With a sigh, Fawkes threw her gear back on shore and dove into the water, wondering if she could just disappear down there. Go to a world where no one was looking for her. Where she wasn't always on the run. Where money didn't matter. Where she didn't have to resort to theft to get by. Some place where she didn't have to use her fists to get people to take her seriously.
Out West wasn't so bad, most of the time. Because of the scarcity of people, they didn't laugh at her for doing jobs traditionally assigned to boys and men. There weren't enough of them to go around and girls and women had to fill in. But lawlessness was still rampant out west no matter how much people denied it. Fawkes had fallen in with more than one bad crowd. She liked the space out west but not the company. New York was not some place she preferred to be. It was crowded, but it had plenty of places to hide, and from New York she could book passage to almost anywhere in the world. That was the real appeal of the place, though the company wasn't half bad either.
Where Fawkes really wanted to be was Ireland, the place her mother had regaled her with stories about for as long as she could remember. Her mother came over from Ireland and hopped on a wagon heading west. She never got to see Washington, which she hoped would be just like Ireland, but with more trees. She died on the way, when Fawkes was twelve. From there Fawkes fell into the crime. Cattle rustling, because it was easy. The first time her crew got hauled in, Fawkes got lucky. One of the few times in her life.
She took the money and ran. She got as far as New York City before Luck corrected her mistake. She got mugged by a bunch of street kids who left her for dead on the side of the road. She fell in with Jack then, though he didn't go by that name. They managed to keep themselves alive for awhile, until Jack got busted doing a bit of stealing and they both got hauled in. Snyder somehow learned who she was, where she'd come from, and sent her back.
She paid back her debt to society by working for the people she'd stolen cattle from. It wasn't far from servitude and Fawkes could only take so much. She was rather highstrung-so she'd been told.
She headed back east, honestly this time so as not to attract attention, picking up jobs to pay the way. She got a job working with racehorses in upstate New York. They brought their horses to the Sheepshead Races down on Coney Island, which is when Fawkes fell in with Racetrack and the Brooklyn newsies.
Probably best not to think about her last time in Brooklyn, she decided. She was too close for comfort as it was. Resurfacing, she blew out a breath.
Spot Conlon, cane and all, was standing on the shore. "Trying to swim to Brooklyn?" He quipped.
"Why? Want a rematch?" She replied, standing. "The first time around didn't knock enough sense into you?"
"I was going to suggest a best two out of three, but you just jumped right to the insults."
Fawkes shrugged, "No thanks. Besides, you know deep down you're just going to lose again."
"You think so?"
"I know so," Fawkes said, approaching him, sloshing water as she walked. "Boys like you only have a stroke of genius just before the darkness takes you. But then you wake up and you don't remember a damned thing."
Spot grinned, "You've been to Brooklyn before I take it."
"I spent a month there one night," she replied, trying to wring out her clothes.
"It's not all bad," he shrugged.
"It's not all good either," she admitted with a chuckle.
"C'mon you, I know a place where you can get some dry clothes. And hang those up," he gestured to her present state with his cane.
"In Brooklyn?" She guessed, stooping to pick up her things.
"Where else?" He wanted to know.
"So you and your thugs can jump me when I officially cross the line? No thanks."
He nodded. It would appear she really did have experience with Brooklyn natives. "Who knows where the line is really?" He responded with a shrug. "A wise man would suggest the middle of the bridge. But that makes it hard for a surprise attack. Some of my boys would contend that even stepping in the East River is crossing the line."
Fawkes nodded, "So that's what this is about."
"-but they aren't here," Spot pointed out.
"So—what-you're gonna talk me to death unless I come back with you?" She wanted to know. He had to be playing an angle. Kids like him always were. Always thinking and scheming. Fawkes just wasn't sure where she fit in and why. There was one thing she knew for sure, Brooklyn hospitality was never what it seemed to be.
"I think we had a misunderstanding this morning. I am trying to correct it," he told her.
"If I recall, we had two misunderstandings," Fawkes replied, suspicious. Brooklyn hospitality was never this—hospitable.
"Which is why I am making an obvious effort," he said.
"Really? I thought it was because you'd never been nice to anyone before and that was why the strain was so obvious." She thought about how her day was going so far and what she knew about Brooklyn. The fact that she could recall Spot's name but not anything about him made her uneasy, but he was being remarkably persistent. Brooklyn was nothing but bad news, and given her near reunion with Snyder, things certainly couldn't get worse, could they? "Do you know something I don't?" She asked when he took her previous remark without offense. Something was definitely up.
"We have food."
Fawke's head whipped up, and her eyes narrowed. Her one weakness (if she had to name only one), was food. She couldn't recall the last time she had eaten and was keenly aware of its necessity for her survival. She liked to hoard it whenever she got the opportunity. In fact, she spent more time hoarding it than actually eating it, because she never knew when her next meal was going to be and she liked to be prepared. She spent far too much of her life without food and it had scarred her for life.
Her reaction was quick. Too quick. She let on her interest and they both knew it. Did he remember? Did he know?
He didn't know. Fawkes told herself. It was a lucky bribe. Most newsies were hungry and underfed. It had a high probability of working.
Fawkes shouldered her pack and followed Spot, sullenly, across the Brooklyn Bridge.
They were only a few blocks into Brooklyn proper when a shrill whistle pierced the air.
Fawkes alighted to the nearest fire escape. Spot followed her example. When they topped the roof, it sounded again, and Spot made cautiously for it.
Fawkes had to admit she was intrigued enough to follow.
They found themselves overlooking a square filled with newsies surrounded by the police. The man in the bowler hat among them. He stood on the steps of a nearby building as he addressed the crowd. A lot of the guys looked uneasy. Probably because they were guilty of more than one crime.
"Listen up you lot," Snyder said.
Fawkes was surprised by what she was seeing. She didn't know he could get so close to kids without be separated by metal bars first.
"We're looking for a fugitive-"
"What's a fugitive?" One of the newsies interrupted, and the crowd laughed.
Brookies always were a little too wise for their own good.
"A fugitive is a runaway felon," Snyder responded with a tight voice.
"What's a felon?" A different guy asked.
Spot was grinning. Fawkes might have been if she knew this roundup wasn't because of her.
"A felon is a wanted man," Snyder explained. He paused, waiting for another interruption. There was none. "We have reason to believe that a fugitive may be hiding out in Brooklyn," he informed the group.
There was a lot of grumbling among them. There was more than one fugitive hiding out in Brooklyn.
"Known aliases are Ginger and Leprechaun," he continued. "Her real name is Morgan Kay."
There was an upset at the revealing of the gender of the fugitive. Or maybe it was the name.
A guy managed to get a word in though, "You don't have to worry about old 'Chaun-y showing up here. We got a little Brooklyn justice waiting for her."
Fawkes gulped. That was the reason she shouldn't be in Brooklyn. Snyder knew it too, unless of course he wanted to get her killed, which she wouldn't put past him.
Fawkes didn't really recover until after Snyder and the bulls left, and the newsies dispersed. That was when she found Spot giving her a funny look.
"We never exchanged pleasantries," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Spot Conlon. You could say that I'm the one in charge of the meatheads that pass for newsies in this region."
Fawkes managed a grin, "Most people just call me Fawkes."
"Like the animal or the bum what tried to blow up Parliament?"
"What?" Fawkes asked, not sure she had heard correctly.
"I'm gonna go with the former then?" He guessed.
"I just didn't expect you to know who Guy Fawkes was," she admitted.
"Me da was in the IRB. The Irish Republican Brotherhood," he added.
Fawkes nodded. She knew who they were.
"He got exiled after suggesting they try a move like Guy Fawkes to send a clear message to the Brits about Home Rule. Then the Orange killed him after he got over here for being Green," he spat on the ground.
"It's a good idea," Fawkes told him. "And would be effective if pulled off."
"Be one hell of a headline too," Spot said with a grin. He looked over the roof again, "How bout we get you them clothes?"
"And the food," Fawkes added. That was real reason she was here.
Spot grinned as he looked back at her. "And the food," he echoed, and they descended the building.
Food turned out to be the scraps from a local restaurant. Apparently, Spot had an arrangement with the owner-or the chef-Fawkes didn't really pay attention. She was too busy thinking about food, and the fact that Spot had first dibs on the scraps, which meant that for once in her life, she might not be hungry.
By the time Fawkes was sated, her clothes, were, for the most part dry, and she refused any more of Spot's generosity.
"You need a place to sleep?"
Fawkes laughed as she stuffed a few extra dinner rolls in her pockets. "Look, it's not that I'm not grateful for what you're trying to do," she indicated with a final roll. "But there's a limit of charity I am willing to accept."
"I'm just trying to be friendly," he responded.
"Thanks," she said, "but no newsie has ever been this generous. Leastwise in Brooklyn," she added.
"You got something against Brooklyn?" He wanted to know, taking offense.
That was a tough question. She didn't have a problem with Brooklyn. Brooklyn had a problem with her. "I'm just gonna tell it like it is." Sort of. "I think it's a bad idea for me to bunk down with you and your boys. I don't like the odds and I don't like close spaces."
Spot gestured to around him, "This whole city's a close space."
The City was a maze, true. Most days it worked in her favor, so she wasn't going to argue. And she only ever felt trapped when she couldn't see the sky, so that was easy enough to remedy.
"Thanks," she told him, "but I've got to be getting back." The sun was going down and she didn't want to get stuck in this part of town after dark.
"To Manhattan?" He guessed.
"To anywhere north of the river," she told him, matching his even tone. "I'll see you around."