Fawkes's first stop back on the safe side of the river was to cut her hair. The moon was coming up full and the glow off the river made it seem as bright as day.
Sitting on a dock, Fawkes took off her hat and combed back her hair. She unsheathed a knife at her hip and got to trimming.
After a thorough haircut, Fawkes checked over her reflection in the water. It was a close cut, just above the ears and off the collar, what she liked to do as a way to make the summer heat easier to tolerate.
It made the cap fit easier too, not that she needed to wear it now.
Fawkes dusted herself off, shook out her hair, and cleaned up.
Next was to find a place to crash. The sky was clear. That boded well. It meant she just had to find a nice rooftop to bed down on.
Fawkes perused more than one roof before unpacking her bag, which consisted mostly of a bedroll. She lay it out and climbed on. She looked up at the few stars and smiled. She was here. In New York. She'd survived her first day.
It was not the greatest as far as she was concerned. She'd already spent too much time in Brooklyn. Snyder knew she was here as well as her aliases. She had to play this cool. Sell her papes. Sell a lot of papes. Snyder knew about Brooklyn. He knew about Manhattan. She had to find somewhere new to sell, else she didn't stand a chance. Maybe she could find a semi-decent job.
Most Brooklyn boys who didn't find a permanent home in the slammer got jobs down on the docks. She was kind of young, yes, and would appear scrawny to the untrained eye, but she was a hard worker. The downside was that it was in Brooklyn. The money might be worth the trouble.
She was going to need more time to think about this. She knew people. Maybe they could hook her up with new territory. Or another job.
Medda would give her something: sweeping up, serving drinks; nothing classy, but it would pay money, and that's all that really mattered.
She didn't remember falling asleep. Just waking up. The sun was just starting to come up over the horizon.
It would be in her best interest to get up to Park Row before the circulation bell started ringing. She needed to get her papes and get out. She was looking forward to a long day.
She was about a block from her destination when she heard someone shout, "Hey! Ginger!"
Fawkes put her head down and just kept walking.
A few feet later, she got tackled into a side alley. There was an apology about to be expressed when Fawke's hat came off. But then her dukes came up, followed by the deadliest of glowers.
It was Cowboy Jack Kelly.
She put down her fists and reached for the hat she had stolen from Spot. "What seems to be the problem?" She wanted to know, tucking the hat in her back pocket.
"You think there's only one?" Was his flat response.
"What's on your mind then?" She wanted to know, looking over his shoulder, fixing on a way to get out of the alley, forcibly if she had to.
"What are you doing here? Where have you been? Why'd you cut your hair?"
Fawkes laughed at the third, and most absurd of the barrage of questions. "I'm doing the same thing as you, I suspect. The haircut was to make life easier. Being Ginger was rough before you came along. I've learned the hard way that pretending to be a boy is just easier," she shrugged. "What gave me away?"
"Snyder," he replied. "And Medda," he added with a nod. "I knew you looked familiar but I just couldn't place it until our little jaunt yesterday. What happened to you? More importantly, how did you get out?"
Fawkes laughed. "I got lost in transit," she told him with a shrug. "I had some outstanding warrants out west. That's where they sent me."
"What brings you back?"
"Same thing as the first time. Steady income for passage to Ireland."
"You know," he told her quietly, "I ain't never heard of anyone trying to go there. Everyone from there is coming here."
"Well, that just means it won't be crowded and I'll be able to find myself some work," she shrugged. "C'mon, we're gonna be late." They were walking in the direction of the circulation bell when it rang. "What about you?" She wanted to know. "I thought you were supposed to get locked up until you were eighteen?"
"I decided I didn't need to be reformed for that long, so I jumped the first carriage out of there."
Fawkes nodded. She'd been to the House of Refuge. Her stay was brief. She couldn't imagine having to spend years there. The security was surprisingly lax. It was the fear of getting another offense and a longer stay that kept kids in line. The Cowboy she knew didn't scare so easy. He had a goal in life, something he was working towards, weren't nobody gonna stop that, not even Snyder.
"Hehey," Racetrack said when he saw them enter. "You seemed to have survived Brooklyn okay," he remarked to Fawkes. "Though you seem to have lost a bit of your own identity."
As they got closer, Fawkes decided that a hat would be good to avoid a scene with Racetrack. She slipped the hat over her hair. Mostly because the kid couldn't keep a secret to save his life.
Race let them jump in line with him. "Brooklyn give ya much trouble?" He wanted to know.
"Nah."
"Wait. Isn't that Spot's hat?" He asked, tearing it off her head.
So much for that plan. "Might've been at one time," Fawkes replied, taking it back, "but not anymore."
"Ah, Jacky boy, this one's not gonna last too long," Race shook his head.
They fell silent. Jack knew how resilient Fawkes could be.
"I forgot to tell you!" Race started suddenly. "When I was at the races yesterday, them Brookies was talking about a big to-do that happened on their side of the bridge. Seems our good friend Mr. Snyder had a chat with them about a female fugitive who sometimes masquerades as a newsie."
"You don't say," Jack responded, looking past Race. At Fawkes, "Why Brooklyn?"
"Why not Brooklyn?" Race said. "That was her turf."
"Really?" That was genuine surprise in his voice. Fawkes avoided eye contact. She'd neglected to tell him she'd been back before now.
"Yeah, don't know why Snyder'd think she'd go back there though. Not after what happened. All them Brookies would kill her as soon as they spotted her. Or, at least, give her a good working over," he added.
"Really? What'd she do?"
"Got the old leader of the Brooklyn bunch hauled in by Snyder himself."
Fawkes bit her lip to tell him that that was not how it happened. Not in the least. But that would only make things worse.
"What'd you say her name was?"
"Well, back then she went by the name of Leprechaun, though most of the boys just called her Connie. Apparently she's been around the block before. Also calls herself Ginger. Though her real name is Morgan Kay."
Fawkes could hear the grin in Jack's voice when he said, "Race, this here's Fox."
Fawkes's look of death did not spare Race.
"Holy shit," he swore.
"Hi Race," she tried to smile.
"Wait. You two know each other?" Jack was surprised.
"Wait. You two know each other?" Race said.
"Like you said. I've been around," Fawkes shrugged.
"I can't believe you went to Brooklyn, knowing they had it in for you," Race admonished her.
"I can't believe it took you this long to recognize me," she retorted.
"It was the cowboy hat," both boys said.
Fawkes just laughed.
By now they had reached the front of the line. They bought their newspapers and skimmed the headlines. Racetrack was the first to stand this time. "You gonna tempt fate again?" He asked of Fawkes.
"Well, I beat Spot. By Brooklyn rules, that makes the turf mine."
"Is that how you got the hat?" Race wanted to know.
"How else?" Fawkes retorted.
"You could sell with me," Jack suggested.
"You don't remember yesterday do you?" Fawkes responded. "I am not going with you."
"Come sell with me," Racetrack suggested with a shrug.
"You're kidding right?" Fawkes made a face, "You still sell at the races don't you? I'd have to walk the length of Brooklyn."
"But Cony Island's got its own newsies. That's safe territory."
"Yeah, until I try to leave," she retorted. She was actually considering it. She'd hadn't been to Cony Island in a really long time. Snyder wouldn't be looking for her there.
"You could always swim," Jack suggested.
"To where?" Fawkes wanted to know. South of Brooklyn was nothing but ocean.
"Staten Island," Race shrugged.
Fawkes shuddered, "I'd rather take my chances with Brooklyn."
They parted ways. Or, at least, Jack parted ways with them. Since Race and her were both southbound, they traveled together. Peddling papes on the way.
"You coming with, or what?" Race asked when they entered her territory.
Fawkes paused. Given Snyder's proximity to it yesterday, and the Brooklyn newsies now knew she was about, they would know exactly where to look. Probably best to give it a few days.
As they continued on through Brooklyn, they talked amongst themselves instead of trying to sell their newspapers.
"So, uh, how do you know Jacky-boy?" Racetrack asked after a suitable silence.
"Saved my life," Fawkes shrugged.
"You never mentioned him before," Race said.
Fawkes shrugged, "I asked about him before, but I figured he'd made his way to Santa Fe since nobody knew of him. Turns out he was just a resident in Snyder's House."
"Where did you go between then and Brooklyn?"
"Working out West." It wasn't a complete lie. "Sometimes the City can be too crowded, you know?"
"And after Brooklyn?" Racetrack pushed.
"You know what happened," Fawkes replied.
"No. Actually I don't. I thought I did, but now I see you out and about, freely roaming the streets of New York, and I feel as though I have no idea as to what happened that night."
What was the best way to say this? "You think Jack's the only person who can escape the House of Refuge?" She retorted. It wasn't anything close to the truth, but it was as much as she was willing to concede. "I headed out West for awhile until things calmed down."
"And now you're back."
"So it would seem," Fawkes responded. She had to get him to stop asking questions. They were in Brooklyn now. The less overheard, the better. "I know I've been out of the game for awhile, but after we sell our papes, I'm prepared kick your ass when it comes to picking horses."
It was true, Fawkes wasn't much of a bettor, except when it came to ruffling Race's feathers. He got lucky sometimes. It happened.
But Fawkes knew a bit about horseflesh, from her time in upstate New York, and, well, cattle hadn't been the only thing she rustled...
Though, Thoroughbreds weren't the same as the Quarterhorse, or the Mustang, which were breeds Fawkes was much more familiar with. There were more differences in build and muscling, but the desire to run was easily identifiable.
They made a pretty penny. Or rather, Fawkes made a pretty penny. Five dollars. And that was only in half a day.
"You ever think about doing this for a living?" Race asked, jingling the coins as he started to divvy them up.
"Betting ain't a job," Fawkes replied. "I like a steady income to fall back on."
"Being a newsie ain't much to live on," Race replied.
"But it is a living," Fawkes pointed out.
"Barely," Racetrack told her.
They split the money. Fawkes got the larger majority for picking the winners, while Race opted for the lesser share, saying all's he did was rope in unwitting fools. Race didn't have the best track record so they were more than willing to take the odds against.
Racetrack invited her back to the Newsboy Lodge in Manhattan at the end of the day, but she declined, for similar reasons as why she wouldn't go with Spot. Too many boys, too few exits. Fawkes had been in that situation before. It didn't end well.
After purchasing a legitimate and filling dinner, the pair went their separate ways.