Fawkes unsheathed the knife she kept on her person and danced with the first thug dumb enough to try her. As luck would have it, her first opponent was armed with a length of chain.
Most fighters adhere to a code of conduct to try to keep things clean. That means, in most cases: fists, skill versus skill alone. Thugs don't live by those rules. They come armed to the teeth, and for them, winning is the only option. For a clean fighter, this is unfortunate because it means they are grossly overmatched with no chance of winning-as the newsies were quickly finding out.
Not Fawkes. She'd been in this boat before. She'd learned the hard way that not everyone was honest. She fought clean until her opponent dictated otherwise. It was better to be prepared than dead.
A knife versus a chain, however, was nowhere close to an evenly matched fight.
She risked the pain and consequences when the man lashed out with the chain. It wrapped around her arm. That wasn't all he caught, as he was soon to find out.
Fawkes had raised her arm to block the hit from hitting the softer parts of her body, but the length of chain tangled and Fawkes wasn't going to be bullied by a thug. She gave that chain a good hard tug. The thug wasn't expecting it and he stumbled, releasing the chain.
Mush was at her back and she called for his help when the goon realized he was losing his leverage. He pounced on the chain as she was pulling it in. Mush added his weight to the fight, ensuring the goon didn't get his chain back. The tug of war resulted in a victory for the two newsies. Their opponent got stampeded by retreating newsies.
A wave of thugs was advancing with baseball bats, clubs, hurleys, and whittled pieces of lumber.
Fawkes stepped up to the plate. She wielded her newly acquired weapon like a whip, snapping it at the thugs, making contact, causing them to recoil and the newsies to attack. She helped to steal weapons and armed the newsies with them.
She was only one person though, and she was the only one who seemed to be successful in her attack on the goons. They wisened up and started to focus their assault on her. Fawkes knew she wouldn't make it very long. Mush was still at her back, keeping her apprised of the situation as they became encircled. Fawkes lost sight of Jack almost as soon as the fight started. She didn't even know if Racetrack was still alive.
All of a sudden she heard Mush shout: "Hey! It's Brooklyn!" A hundred heads turned skyward. Fawkes didn't look. That's what she had Mush for. Distracted thugs made easy targets, and they were being weakened by another force.
Marbles. Slingshots. Her mind made the connection as she caught a ricochet to the temple. It was Brooklyn alright.
The newsies surged forward, seemingly recharged and newly inspired by the thought of help from Brooklyn.
She heard the front gates creak open and saw more newsies march in, wielding weapons of their own. Spot was at the head of the charge, his cane in the air like a rapier, pointing the direction of attack.
The thugs didn't stand a chance after that. They retreated back the way they came, and some fled altogether, bloody and bruised.
Fawkes couldn't help but feel the vibes of adrenaline as a result of the victory.
She saw Jack standing on the load-out area, a grin on his face. Fawkes made for him, a remark about his boyish appearance, ready on her lips. Other boys were gathering around him as well, congratulating each other on the victory. Kid Blink pulled her up, complimenting her on her skill with the chain.
Fawkes just shrugged. It wasn't all that much different than a whip, of which she had more than a little experience.
Jack saw her and his eyes widened. He reached for her and she grinned. "You!" He started.
A voice came from the side: "Boys!"
Fawkes looked and immediately regretted it.
While they had been reflecting on their win, Denton had set up his camera and as soon as he had their attention, the light flashed. He congratulated them on their win, and interviewed Spot, since it was his crew who had saved the day. They walked as they talked, Denton leading them to a nearby diner, where he promised them all a meal for a hard day's work.
Mush thanked her for keeping him alive, but Fawkes wasn't really paying attention. She was more interested in Jack and Spot's conversation. Their heads were bent together as they talked, an indication of a serious conversation. She couldn't hear a damn thing. There was some distance between them, sure, and the newsies were making one hell of a racket.
More than once they looked in her direction, which was what had Fawkes on edge. Did Spot know about her and Jack and the fact that they were fugitives? Was he leaning on Jack? Threatening him? Was their freedom at stake?
The question that bothered her more was how Brooklyn happened to be in the area to save the day. And most importantly: why? Brooklyn didn't owe Manhattan anything. She'd already made it clear that Brooklyn wasn't going to get anything out of the strike except for the glory of the win and a little more respect from the populace.
After awhile, Spot departed, taking one last look at Fawkes before doing so.
Jack and Fawkes watched each other for awhile before he approached, bringing with him an uneaten sandwich. "You haven't eaten anything," he told her, placing it in front of her and taking a seat.
"I'm not hungry," she responded, pushing it away. "Consider your peace offering a failure."
Jack shrugged, "There's no good way to make this not painful so let's just get it over with. We need to talk."
"About Spot?" Fawkes guessed.
"He knows who you are."
"Who we are?" Fawkes tried not to gulp.
"No," Jack was quick to reassure her. "Just that you're a girl."
"Oh, yeah," Fawkes relaxed briefly. Aside from him, only Racetrack and Jack knew. No one looked much further than a pair of upraised fists. There was too much trouble there as it was.
Then she remembered Spot was from Brooklyn and those boys didn't have much of a reputation for playing fair. "So what's his angle then? I don't much care if he outs me in Manhattan. I don't reckon they'll care. I'd just be worried about word getting back to Brooklyn. There can't be many chicks masquerading as boys and they'll work out that I'm the one they've been looking for."
Jack shook his head, "It's not quite that troublesome." He paused and took a deep breath, "He just wants someone to split a dinner with."
"Why can't you eat with him? You'll make better conversation."
Jack gave her a funny look. "I'm not one to question his choice in companion," he said after awhile. "But he requested you, and this is something I need you to do. It's all he wants out of us for joining the strike. We need Brooklyn, if today was any indication. Once we have them on board, the rest of the City will follow."
"You know I hate Brooklyn," Fawkes started.
Jack nodded, "It's one night. An hour of your life at most. If you're lucky. It's just a business transaction. Just dinner. After that you can do anything you want to do."
"Like deck Spot?" Fawkes wanted to know, trying to find him in the crowd.
"Well, I wouldn't recommend it, but sure," Jack shrugged.
Fawkes let out a resigned sigh, "When?"
"Tonight?" Jack cringed as he said it.
"You know I'm working tonight," she responded.
"Well, make it a quick meal. Less painful." Jack shrugged, "I figured the sooner the better."
"Yeah, yeah," Fawkes rolled her eyes. "I'm late for work as it is."
Apparently Jack spoke with Medda about her dinner plans because Medda not only gave her a few extra hours off for dinner, she tried to get Fawkes into her dressing room to try on an outfit and smear on some makeup.
"Not a chance," Fawkes told the older woman. "It's a business meeting. I don't need to get all dolled up. I don't even want to go."
Jack was waiting for her outside when she pushed through to the streets. "What the hell are we even supposed to talk about?" Fawkes wanted to know. "You know I hate discussing logistics and things with people I don't like."
"You mean don't know," Jack corrected.
"That too," Fawkes replied.
"I don't think he'll want to talk about business," Jack told her.
"Then what's the point of this little get-together then?" She wanted to know, stopping Cowboy midstep.
Jack blew out a breath. He couldn't tell her the truth. Fawkes wouldn't believe him anyhow. "He's Spot Conlon. Head of Brooklyn. He's got a lot of power. People tread carefully around him because they don't want to upset or offend him and find themselves washed out to sea. You tell it like it is. You don't care what people think."
"And that's why he wants me to have dinner with him? So I can cut him down to size?" Fawkes wrinkled her nose and started walking again.
"Well, that or he likes your accent," Jack told her, jogging to catch up.
Fawkes jabbed him in the arm when he reached her. She was aware that she didn't speak like the locals. She had her time out west to thank for that.
Jack escorted the girl to a diner near Brooklyn.
She peered at him funny, "Here?" She was eyeing their proximity to the bridge, keenly aware that they hadn't crossed it.
"I'm not all bad," Jack told her. "During our time together, I've noticed you have a strong desire to go to Brooklyn on your own terms. One day we'll talk about it, but now is hardly the time. I negotiated, on your behalf, that you stay in Manhattan."
Fawkes could only gape at him. "Thank you." Her whisper was almost lost among the hub-bub of the street.
Jack grinned. He wanted to give her some parting words. Some advice. Maybe even some quips to take Spot down a peg or two. He had a notion that if anyone could say them and live, it would be Fox.
He didn't say anything though. They'd reached an accord. He didn't want to spoil it by talking. He tugged the brim of his hat in deference to her and walked away. He didn't plan to go far-just in case.
Fox was important to the strike. With her at his side, Jack felt he could say anything-that he could do anything. She wasn't scared of the repercussions. Jack kicked at the stone in the street. He still hadn't told her how fantastic she'd done against the thugs. Everyone had been ready to run, himself included. He'd looked over the ranks and seen Fox standing out, ready to fight the thugs with nothing but a knife. She'd been outnumbered today. She could have died, and yet, she stood her ground, She wasn't afraid.
What had she done in Brooklyn that made her fear going back? Why did she think they would recognize her? She had cut her hair. She had taken to wearing Spot's newsie cap instead of her cowboy hat. Did she think that would further the charade? Did they know she was from out west?