They snuck in past the guard easy. They scaled the roof with no problem-all of it in silence. It wasn't until Fawkes was about to dangle Jack from three stories up that he decided to speak, "So what did Spot want?"
"Nothing important," Fawkes attempted to shrug before remembering she was Jack's anchor and that might not end well for him.
"Sure," he agreed. "I know you," he reminded her after she relented nothing. "He rub you the wrong way?"
"I don't want to talk about it," she responded.
"Ginger-" he started.
"You are aware that I am in control of your descent, Sullivan," she pointed out. "Do you want to kiss the ground or get Crutchy out?"
Jack shut up, but his narrowed eyes told her that this conversation was far from over.
She lowered him until he called out for her to halt. She heard muffled voices and then silence, and then, she was reeling him back up empty-handed.
"What's wrong?" She asked him as he disentangled himself from the rope.
"He wouldn't come with. Said the Delancey brothers worked him over pretty good."
"We coulda carried him," Fawkes shot back.
"Trust me, I tried that angle," Jack sighed. "Let's get out of here before we wear out our welcome."
Fawkes didn't need to be told twice.
Jack tried to invite her back to the Newsboy Lodge.
Fawkes declined, despite the fact there was Crutchy's vacated bed. She opted for a spot under the stars, near the river. She wanted to spend the morning looking for jobs on the docks. It was a logical place to spend the night.
No one on the docks would take her. She tried both sides of the river. They said she was too scrawny. Fawkes knew that that wasn't true. These arms had rebranded cattle that she'd rustled. She'd broken Mustangs. She was scrappy, yes. Scrawny? Definitely not.
She was skulking her way back to the proper side of the river when she saw the source of her problems: Brooklyn newsies, loitering on the periphery. Not selling newspapers. That was what made them so suspicious. When they weren't hawking papers, they just looked like hoodlums. Thugs. Trouble.
She had to get out of Brooklyn.
Fawkes put her head down and kept on walking.
Did that mean Spot had joined the strike?
He was waiting for her at the head of the Bridge. "Dinner?" He asked, much too casually.
"Wrong time of the day for that," she responded, trying to walk past him.
He held out his cane as a way to hold her at bay, "Not even for a business proposition?"
"I don't know why you keep talking to me," Fawkes admitted. "I don't make the deals, I only sell them. If you've got something to propose, bring it up with Jack, he's the leader of this rebellion."
"He's the leader," Spot made a sound akin to scoffing. "You're smarter than he is. What does that make you?"
"The muscle," Fawkes shrugged. "I don't mind. It means I don't have to put up with boys trying to sweet talk a deal out of me because they think that because I'm a girl I don't know how to haggle. Not only is that not true, they don't me have decision-making powers because I don't negotiate."
"I'm sure you've got more power than you think."
Fawkes blew out a breath, more than ready to be done with him. He'd completely ignored what she'd said. She didn't negotiate, not because she couldn't, but because she didn't settle. She went in for all or nothing. For her there was no in between.
"I'm making a good offer and you know it. All I want in return for Brooklyn joining up is dinner with you."
"Why?" Fawkes made a face.
"You're going to need the numbers. You're going to need bodies capable of withstanding a beating and giving some of it. The world works with the big guys stomping on the little ones until they go away. I'm betting on you and Jacky-boy. You've got heart and I like that. It means you won't go away so easy. But two hearts ain't much when it comes to muscle. You don't need to convince me, you need to make a sacrifice. I'm going to sacrifice my men for your fight. You're going to sacrifice your pride and have dinner with me."
It would be handy to have his crew, but did they need them? They might be able to get by without them. Fawkes didn't dislike the kid, he fought fair and he seemed to hear her out. It was his persistence that bothered her. She didn't want to spend any time with him that wasn't necessary. She risked discovery that way.
"I don't know if you know this, but I'm on strike. I don't have an income. Your boys are making it so I can't even get a backup job. Don't think you'll get a free meal out of me. I know you don't need it. You've got quite the smorgasbord in your neck of the woods. You don't need me around to eat it."
"True," Spot admitted, "but I wouldn't mind the company."
"You may be the King of Brooklyn, but I'm not in your crew. I won't bow to you. I've got other priorities: like leading this strike. You won't mind if I get back to it?"
"Get back to it? Or get back to Jack?" Spot wondered.
"Does it matter? Me and him are in this together. I need him for things just as he needs me. Without me, he wouldn't have been able to break into the Refuge last night to get one of our boys back."
Spot was silent a moment, "Does this mean you woulda come if you hadn't been otherwise engaged?"
"No," Fawkes said firmly. She pushed the cane out of her way and kept on walking, genuinely surprised when he let her go.
She made it safely to Manhattan and side-stepped into Medda's theater. She was working her way backstage when a heap of cloth ran headlong into her.
"What-?"
The cloth started to move on its own accord, and a gussied up woman with soft ginger curls was peering at her. "Ginger?" She asked.
Fawkes moved to finger the locks she no longer had and gave a sheepish grin.
The older woman swooped up the younger in a tight hug, "Jack never told me you were back in town! It's so good to see you!"
Fawkes couldn't help but smile at the warm welcome. Medda had fostered her and Jack on many a cold night. Not that the theater was much warmer, but it was better than being outside. "Ginger ain't exactly a name you want to go around shouting," Fawkes told her.
"You changed your name too," Medda nodded. "Seems appropriate, given you're a lot less ginger than when we first met," She tousled Fawkes' short hair.
"I'm going by Fawkes."
"What brings you to my neck of the woods? I'm guessing this isn't a social call given the way Jack burst in here earlier this week."
"Actually, I was looking for a job," Fawkes gave a shy sort of smile. She explained to Medda how they were on strike. Medda already knew about Ireland, so she knew why Fawkes wanted a job. "I'll do anything: sweep floors, serve drinks, whatever. I'll do it."
Medda smiled, "I can't say no to a face that earnest. Will they miss you on the 'front?" She jerked a finger to some place beyond the walls of Irving Hall.
Fawkes nodded, knowing what she meant, "I told Jack. He knows."
"Good kid," Medda smiled.
Medda got her set up with a broom and introduced her to a few essential staff, and then rushed on stage.
Life was quiet for a week or so. Fawkes made decent money working for Medda. As much as could be expected. If she was free, she met Race down at that tracks, or talked a little treason with Jack, but it was mostly just them beating up scabs. Nothing they couldn't handle. They were proving they were serious. All of Manhattan was on board. Bowery too. Harlem was in the works, but they were confident.
That was when Pulitzer finally realized the dip in sales. They came at the boys hard.
Fawkes had gone in early to have a chat with Jack and the newspaper man from the Sun. She hung around to join the daily charge on the scabs, as a way to brighten up her life.
This morning wasn't like those other mornings.
The scabs turned and ran, pounding on the large green doors beyond the gates of the circulation desk. The doors opened to reveal ranks of thugs, armed with more than bare fists. They had clubs, chains, and, who knew what else. Not a single one of them was younger than twenty, or weighed less than two hundred pounds. Fawkes certainly had her work cut out for her.
She knew turning back would be the smart thing to do, most of the strikers had, but she knew it was no use. Caught like a mouse in a trap, she heard the steel gates slam shut behind them. This was supposed to end it.