They'd put her and Jack in holding cells, side by side. There was no sign of any of the other newsies. "Sorry I punched your lights out," Fawkes's voice was coarse from too much use and not enough hydration.
"I thought you said you had a plan to get us out clean," Jack was testing the tenderness of his right cheek. She'd given him one hell of a shiner.
"I did," she blew out a breath. "I wish you coulda seen it. I got a cop to help drag your sorry butt into the paddywagon. I picked the keys and took the reins. I thought I got away clean. I found a quiet spot and let everyone out. I was struggling with you when-"
That's where her memory stopped.
"I have it on good authority, Mr. Mackey used to be a professional with a slingshot," Snyder's voice oozed as he stepped out of the shadows. He was watching them carefully.
"If he's the one who dropped me, I'd guess he still is," Fawkes grumbled. "I didn't even notice he was there so he had to come at me from a distance." It would explain the ringing in her head. And the soreness on the back of her skull.
"I'll see you kids in the morning," Snyder was grinning as he dismissed himself.
Fawkes blew out a breath and took a seat. She'd come to in the wagon and had been too out of sorts to put up much of a fight. She didn't see Jack until she got shoved in the cell. They must have known that sticking them together was a bad idea. She wished that she could make them regret putting him so close to her.
A guard came in to snuff out the lights.
Jack laid down in his cell and curled up. Fawkes wanted to apologize further but she couldn't find the words. They'd failed. Hopefully the strike would go on, but it would have to be without them.
Fawkes was exhausted. There was nothing her body wanted to do more than sleep. Her head injury, coupled with the stress of the day-seeing Mackey, leading the rally, performing, not managing to escape, she should be out like a light.
She couldn't. Her brain was whirring. Too many things had gone wrong. There were too many unknowns for her to settle down.
Her first problem was that she was caged. Again. It was a situation she'd promised herself she'd avoid.
She'd failed. She was going to that awful place back west. She'd escape there. She'd done it twice now.
That sorted, Fawkes started to worry about the newsies. She'd saved a wagon-ful. Had they escaped successfully? Who else had been caught? Why had they captured others if she and Jack had been the priority? Were there other newsies with outstanding charges? That sounded fun to find out. Where were they being held if not here? Fawkes amended that thought. They were probably in separate precincts to reduce trouble.
There was nothing she could do from her present location. She would just have to wait until morning to find out the damage done.
Fawkes slept fitfully. She liked open spaces and big sky. She didn't do well in tight spaces. It was why she slept on rooftops.
In the morning, a guard grabbed her and two grabbed Jack. They were escorted into a wagon and brought to city hall.
She could hear newsies in the courtroom as she waited in the hallway for her turn to be arraigned. So they had caught others. What were they being charged with? Assault? Battery?
She thought she heard Spot's lilt, shortly before giggling and gavel pounding.
The cop pulled her through the door when another man of law came to fetch him. The balliff, she remembered.
Fawkes eyed the courtroom. It was classier than the ones out west. This one had dark wood paneling, but an equally severe-looking man on the bench donning grey whiskers.
The place was crowded. Newsies were cycling through. On their way to freedom, it looked like. Denton was working out the details with the clerk, all the boys behind him were more than ready to leave.
Fawkes was jealous. They'd probably got to pass the night in a holding cell together. They'd probably been warm.
She saw Race and Spot in the crowd and was pleased to see there weren't that many. Hopefully that meant the ones she'd loosed had stayed free.
"Fawkes?" Spot's hail was a question. She knew why. She wasn't planning on getting caught. He didn't know about the string of charges against her. He only knew Jack had a history.
Fawkes didn't say anything. She didn't want them to be here for this.
"Move it along," the judge ordered the newsies in a bored tone. "What's this one about?"
"Impersonating an officer," the clerk said
"Your honor," Snyder had appeared out of nowhere. Was he going to speak in her defense? Fawkes would rather a hangman's noose. "This is Morgan Kay. Her street names are Ginger, Leprechaun, and Fox."
Fawkes was torn between telling them they were wrong or staying silent. Kay was the name of the gang she'd rustled cattle with. Her name was Morgan Fawkes. They probably didn't care.
"She's wanted for extradition in four states."
The boys, on their way out, made some noise behind her. Whether it was the feminine pronoun, aliases, or the extraditions, it was hard to say.
"You don't mind if I take a seat?" Fawkes asked the judge. "This is gonna be awhile."
She wasn't afforded the opportunity. The guard never left her side, and Snyder swooped closer as she approached the judge's bench.
"She's wanted in Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, and Colorado for multiple counts of cattle rustling. Wyoming for one count of horse theft. I'm sure there are other charges by now," Snyder remarked.
Fawkes sent him a deadly look. She'd stole a bit to get to New York but no one could prove anything. She'd been clean since.
"I'd like to keep her in the Refuge until-"
"Has she committed any crimes in the state of New York?" The judge looked like he could care less.
"Murder, your honor. And theft."
"What?!" Fawkes nearly shrieked. Murder? Whose?
The judge peered down his nose at Fawkes, and then Snyder. "Explain," he demanded.
"In the summer of 1896, a young man was found facedown in the gutter in Coney Island," Snyder said.
"Wouldn't be the first," Racetrack quipped from beyond.
"A youth came into my care as a result of that incident, but there was never any formal charge or case," Snyder continued.
"Because you folks don't care about anything that happens south of Manhattan," Fawkes scoffed. Disbelief was rattling her to the core. They'd never charged Mackey? And now they were pinning her with his crime?
"He was a witness you see, in the wrong place at the wrong time, but at long last, we have managed to track down the murderer."
Fawkes' eyes narrowed and she advanced on the warden, "I didn't kill anyone. That guy was easily twice my size. You know full well Mackey did. That's more his style. You just need someone to blame and you think I'll be that scapegoat. Well I won't." The girl screamed her frustration, scaring the guard into taking a step back. Snyder took a step forward, his hand raised.
Fawkes didn't move. She narrowed her eyes and steeled herself for the hit. She willed it to come. She'd been beat before. She didn't fear him. She wouldn't flinch.
The judge looked between her and Snyder. Hopefully he didn't like what he saw. "She may stay in your care until a trial date is set, if charges get filed. Find out if there are any new charges against her. The extraditions may have precedence..." he trailed off writing a note and then banged his gavel. "Next!"
"Francis Sullivan a.k.a. Jack Kelly," Snyder's voice was oily like he'd won a great victory.
Fawkes cringed as they read his charges: Inciting to riot, assault, resisting arrest, on top of his old theft charge.
The guard began to haul her off. Fawkes whipped around, "I'm sorry Cowboy."
"I am too Fox," Jack offered her a sad smile. "We had a good run."
"Just like old times," she managed to grin.
"Hey Cowboy! Nice shiner!" Racetrack was grinning.
Snyder spoke to the judge about keeping Jack till he was twenty-one. Fawkes could see that broke his resolve a little.
"Did we at least get in the papers?" Fawkes asked Denton as she was pushed past. If not for the rally, the sheer number of cops would have attracted attention. And what about her heroic save?
"No," Denton's voice was quiet and she saw Jack's shoulders sag further. "I'll stop by and explain it to you later," Denton promised.
"But I-" Fawkes held up her wrists. They were still in chains.
"Don't worry."
Fawkes tried not to.
She hadn't trusted Denton much when she first met him. He asked a lot of prying questions. The kind that make good reporters, she supposed. It put her ill at ease. He'd seen everything they'd been through, from the beginning. He was here now, posting bail for a sizable number of newsies. That couldn't be cheap. He was invested. She'd seen him running blocker for Snyder last night. He was in this just as much as they were.
Adults were always trying to catch her in the wrong. This one wasn't. As much as she didn't want to, she liked him. If he said not to worry, then maybe he had a plan. It would be refreshing. Fawkes was all out.
When Denton was admitted into her solitary cell at the Refuge some time later, Fawkes recognized there was something different about him. He wasn't all smiles and optimism.
"What's wrong?" Fawkes demanded.
The shoulders underneath his sharp suit were sagging the way Jack's had. This man had also encountered a staggering defeat.
"My boss has reassigned me."
"What? Why?"
"Because he's a newspaper and you kids are at war with all of them. He thinks I shouldn't cover you because it gives you more power."
"He's right," Fawkes agreed. She paused as a thought struck her, "Is that why the other papers won't cover us?"
"Probably, though I think there are other factors as well."
"Pulitzer," Fawkes nodded. He had enough money and power to lean on anyone he wanted. He hadn't done so before now because he hadn't taken them seriously. Now he was. The fight had gotten harder, just like Jack had promised that it would, only she and Jack weren't around to lead them. Fawkes hoped that someone would step up. Spot had brains. Racetrack was persuasive enough. They could do it, if they listened to each other. "I'm sorry you bet on us and lost," Fawkes leaned her head back on the crumbly brick wall behind her. "I wish we'd been more upstanding citizens."
Denton managed a grin, "Me too, kid. They only went after your past because you were doing so well. Orphans have a tough rap. It's impossible for you to stay alive and not break laws that are inhibiting your own preservation."
Fawkes let out a mirthless laugh and changed the topic, "What's next for you?"
"Hating my life because I chose to keep my job over helping you."
Fawkes managed a grin, "Jack wouldn't talk to you?" She guessed.
Denton's silence was answer enough.
"You're a newspaper man. We're the news. If every newspaper is refusing to report on us, how are you going to survive?"
Denton nodded. He reached into his pocket. "I don't know if they'll let you keep this," he held out a crumpled up ball of paper. "But this is what I wrote about the rally."
He tossed it to her. Fawkes caught it and put it in her own pocket, "Not much I can do about it in here."
"Not much anyone's going to do about it since Pulitzer's demanded no one print anything about the strike."
"Yeah, I don't see many printing presses finding their way into my life at present."
Denton offered up a genuine smile, "You never know. Keep your head up."
"Is this the last I'll see of you?"
"My boss promised to blacklist me from every reputable paper if I don't leave you kids be. I figured I owed you enough to explain the why."
"Thanks," Fawkes told him. "For treating us like humans, and for treating us like adults."
"You earned my respect, it was the least I could do. I'll never forget the way you went after those thugs…"
"Time's up!" A voice shouted.
Fawkes heard a key jangle on its way toward the lock in her door.
"I also wanted to tell you I heard a story about a hero when I rounded up the newsies to say goodbye," Denton told her, rushed. "Some claimed a newsie dressed up as an officer of the law and led them to freedom at the expense of his own. A boy with red hair like a fox-"
The lock sprang open and the door swung inward.
"You might be behind bars kid, but you're a legend now." Denton assured the girl. "Folks'll expect the strike to end because the leaders are in jail, but they'll keep fighting to honor you. They owe you that much."
The guard escorted Denton away.
Fawkes let her chin fall into her hands as she sat with her elbows on her knees.
It was what she wanted to hear: that kids were still fighting. So why didn't she feel good about it? Because she wasn't there. The idea had been fostered by the Manhattan newsies in her company. Now it felt as though someone had stolen it away. She wanted to be there to see it through to the end. She didn't want to hear they were carrying on her work in honor of her legacy. She wanted them to do it because they wanted it, not because she wanted it for them.
Fawkes couldn't stop thinking about it.
It was all there was to think about.
Well, that and that Denton was no longer supporting them. With the strike on, the newsies relied on him for food. She wanted to be angry with him. He was an adult who'd gained her trust, only to leave her, like they all did eventually. She understood why. He needed to make a living same as they did. It didn't mean he didn't care about them. The reassignment looked like it had ripped out his heart and his will to live. Jack would understand if he wasn't wallowing in his own personal defeat.
She tried not to think about it. Focus on the good, she told herself. The newsies were striking, even without them. They were still fighting. She had given them a reason to push on. They still might win this thing.