Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 10: Revenge and Epiphany
Oscar Delancey rarely forgot a face, and he never forgot an insult.
He considered it a particular talent of his, memorizing appearances, keeping a mental catalog of names, and being able to hold a grudge far longer than the other party involved could probably even remember. It wasn't easy being this meticulous, but Oscar had honed his craft for years, and at this point of his life, was really quite good at it.
The newsboys might have been ignorant of this fact, but Oscar remembered each mocking jab and every snide remark, no matter how teasing. He kept a mental ledger of insults, and almost every one of the scruffy, ill-mannered newsies' names was somewhere in it. Jack Kelly and Racetrack Higgins were, of course, the primary offenders, and the disrespectful taunts that they directed towards Wiesel on a daily basis never failed to rankle Oscar (not because he was particularly close to his uncle, but because it was a matter of family pride). He'd wanted to confront them often enough, but Kelly was strong and Higgins was cunning, and besides that, Oscar knew that it was bad for business to incite disorder at the distribution center (and that there were far fewer witnesses if you waited until after hours to soak someone). That didn't stop him from occasionally picking on some of the smaller or weaker newsies to blow off steam, but he kept his indignation under control as long as he was on the clock.
He'd learned the newsies' names by watching and listening (he was always listening from his place behind the distribution counter). Knowing someone's name meant that you had just that much more control over them, so he made it a point to take notice. The newsies were a rather careless bunch when it came to showing their weaknesses, and Oscar took advantage of that too, shrewdly observing their mannerisms and habits and keeping a record of vulnerabilities that could be exploited in the future.
He knew more about the newsies than they had probably thought to imagine.
He knew, for example, that the one called Specs was blind as a bat without his glasses (Oscar had contemplated breaking them often enough, but Specs was actually fairly respectful, and Oscar did have a singular, if twisted, sense of fairness. Besides, he feared retaliation from Kelly, who was unapologetically aggressive when it came to protecting his boys).
He knew that the one called Romeo was ignorant and naive, and that his trusting nature and penchant for flirting often blinded him to the deception in others.
He knew that the one called Finch was impatient and antsy, unable to sit still and fearful of even the smallest threat despite his outward gumption and considerable skill with the slingshot that he constantly carried on his person.
He knew that the disabled newsie, Crutchie, was mentally tough and unflappably spirited, but lately Oscar had also seen him lagging further behind the others, so he surmised that the newsboy's bum leg was giving him more trouble than usual.
Higgins' most noticeable weaknesses - his inclination to gamble and his spotty record at the track - were obvious, but Oscar had observed something even more interesting after watching the gambler for some time. Higgins was generally sarcastic and snarky, nearly as full of bravado as Kelly himself. But Higgins was also susceptible to mood swings, and when he went into one of his rare lows, he tended to isolate himself from his comrades. Oscar had often thought that if there would ever be a good time to extract revenge, it would be during one of these moments.
Indeed, when it came to picking out the weaknesses of the newsboys, Oscar had things fairly well in hand. The only one who had confounded his assessment was Kelly. The newsie leader kept up an unwavering front of confidence and was uniformly quick to a fight, showing no hesitation or vulnerability whatsoever, so thus far all of Oscar's attempts to ferret out his weakness had been unsuccessful.
At least, they had been unsuccessful…until today.
It had been a typical morning at the distribution center, and it was only when Kelly had begun his blustering protest about the new newsie price that Oscar had even remembered the ten cent increase in the first place (it didn't concern him, after all).
He'd watched the frantic newsies deliberate amongst themselves, disinterested and bored from his place behind the counter, until his sharp eyes had caught onto something:
Kelly had been rallying his boys to strike. That in and of itself was notable - Oscar wouldn't have expected the newsie leader to take such drastic measures. But what was most astonishing was that Kelly hadn't been working alone. Someone had been helping him, feeding him the words that he'd then distributed like bread to the ravenous newsboys.
Oscar had squinted, taking a closer look.
It hadn't just been anyone helping Kelly. It had been him, the new kid from the day before - Nineteen Papes. He was the brain behind this.
Intrigued, Oscar had sized him up. Nineteen Papes was taller than Kelly, probably tall enough to look Oscar in the eye - but he didn't look nearly as powerfully built, and if his clean attire was anything to go by, he also didn't live on the streets. He likely came from a home and a family, which meant that he would be soft. In fact, Oscar remembered, he'd seen a little boy tagging along beside him - probably his brother. That could certainly be exploited.
The idea that Kelly would need or want an advisor was something that Oscar had never considered. He couldn't recall a time when he'd ever observed the newsie leader showing deference to any of his boys, not even to Higgins or to Crutchie, but oddly enough, Nineteen Papes must have had something that Kelly needed, something that Kelly lacked.
Perhaps this was the weakness Oscar had been looking for.
As the protesting newsboys stomped off, storming out of the distribution center and leaving the day's papers untouched, Oscar burned with indignation at their defiance. But the thought of his recent observations mollified him somewhat, and he found himself not quite as angered by his adversaries' insolence as he normally would have been, perhaps even feeling a little bit pleased.
He didn't have enough to go on to begin plotting retribution yet, but it was a promising beginning. Nineteen Papes was the key - if Oscar could find out a little more about him - his name, his background, his weakness, then maybe he'd finally be able to figure out a way to make Kelly crack.
Jack wasn't at all surprised to find himself unceremoniously thrown out of the New York World building. The thought that Pulitzer would have given them an audience had been a long shot to begin with, and he'd seen the look that the burly lobby guard had given him when he had burst through the doors with Davey and Les. It was only a matter of minutes before that very same officer was roughly shoving them back the way they came, intent, no doubt, on teaching them a lesson: that you couldn't just come barreling into the offices of Joseph Pulitzer without a proper appointment, especially not when you were just a bunch of scruffy-looking nobodies.
Jack felt himself tripping over Les' foot as they were pushed backwards. He knew how to break his fall, though, and while it wasn't the most graceful of landings, he fared better than the Jacobs brothers, who clearly weren't used to being so rudely ejected from places. The spirited Les immediately sprang to his feet, shouting his defiance at the closing lobby doors. Davey looked like he'd had the wind knocked out of him, but he was quickly helped to his feet by the other newsies, all of whom continued to shout protests and pound at the doors of the building.
Jack joined them, making his way to the head of the group. It didn't concern him that the attempts at negotiations had failed. He wasn't here to exchange pleasantries with Pulitzer. He was here to fight.
Crutchie came alongside Jack, his energetic voice rising above the din and his eager pounding against the doors as strong and forceful as any of the rest of the newsies.
Jack couldn't help but grin at the verve of his closest friend. Most folks didn't take the time to look past the disabled leg, the limp, the crutch...but if they had, they would have quickly realized that what made Crutchie who he was wasn't any of those things - it was his spirit, fierce, loyal, and brave. The newsies drew hope from Crutchie, and his enduring strength made him the heart of the lodging house.
On Jack's other side, Race was energetically shouting at the top of his lungs, gesturing animatedly with his cigar and looking like he was having the time of his life. The gambler could be notoriously hard to read, but today he wasn't holding back, letting the excitement show on his face as he drank in the moment. Race was absolutely fearless. If Jack was first to a fight, Race was always right at his shoulder, raring to brawl and ready to take down anyone regardless of his own safety or the relative size or strength of his opponent. His recklessness didn't always serve him well, but his willingness to put himself on the line for others had earned him a well-deserved respect.
It had been the three of them- Crutchie, Race, and Jack - working together for several months now, keeping the lodging house running, settling disputes between the younger newsies, and keeping watch over their band of brothers. They made a good team, and Jack was thankful to have both of the other boys by his side.
Unfortunately, each of them could be quite impulsive, and when they were together, the effect only intensified. It was a running joke that they had fists and fearlessness enough between them but not an ounce of self-restraint. Crutchie, perhaps, was the calmest of the three, but even he could be easily caught up in the zeal of his two more reckless friends. A calm, cool voice of reason was sorely lacking in the lodging house, and Jack had often privately lamented this deficiency when he'd found himself once again patching up a band of battered newsies after his hotheadedness (and Race and Crutchie's respective inability and unwillingness to temper it) had landed the group in yet another situation that had turned out to be more than they could handle.
He hoped that this wasn't another one of those situations.
It felt different this time, though. Hadn't the annoyingly detailed discussion at the distribution center proved that there was nothing else that they could do? Jack wasn't used to having to think things through quite so thoroughly, but the increase in price had presented a surprisingly complicated problem. Of course, surrender was not an option, but blatantly defying The World wasn't something that you rushed into blindly without making sure you at least partially knew what you were doing.
Thank goodness Davey had happened to be there.
Jack didn't often feel the need to ask for a second opinion. He felt that it was his job as leader to have the answers, and he knew that he needed to present himself as competent and self-assured if he was to retain the newsies' respect. Occasionally, he would ask another boy for his opinion, and he regularly relied on both Race's and Crutchie's insights for situations involving lodging house matters and any new recruits. But when it came to deciding what to do, Jack operated as the sole and undisputed leader.
He'd intuitively sensed, however, that this strike was a different kind of animal. Jack didn't have the experience or book-smarts to know how a union worked or how to go about forming one. He could be the face of the strike, the blustering force and the protesting fist, ready to stand in the line of fire and ready to rile up the boys as necessary. But he knew that there was more to it than that.
So he had done something very out of character but very calculated: he'd asked for Davey's opinion. In doing so, he'd not only drawn out the information that he'd needed about the strike, but he'd also managed to drag the other boy into something that the latter had clearly wanted no part in - at first.
Jack glanced over to where Davey was standing, adding his shouts to the uproar that continued to swell outside the offices of The World. Davey's bearing and expression showed evidence of self-restraint, as if letting out his anger wasn't something that he did very often, but there was a clear and resolute conviction in his voice, as though having satisfied his deliberate, methodical, question-raising nature, he could now fully commit himself to the cause.
Jack resisted the urge to grin. Davey's cautious personality and anxious temperament had seemed at the outset to be a poor fit for the headline-hawking profession, and Jack, even after Race's reassurances, had secretly retained his nagging doubt that even several months on the job could ever make a decent newsie out of the older Jacobs brother.
However, after today, he realized that perhaps Davey had crossed paths with them for a different purpose. Maybe they'd picked up a book-smart walking mouth who could tell you all the answers but would never be very good at selling papes.
But maybe they'd also just found their voice of reason.
Margaret was waiting in her usual spot by the door for Sadie as the latter hurriedly gathered up her lunch pail, slate, and school book and made her way over to her friend for the walk home from school. Abby had already gone ahead with some of her classmates and knew to wait for Sadie at the corner where the little group would part ways, so it was just the two older girls for the time being.
"Are you having a pleasant birthday so far, Megs?" Sadie asked as she and Margaret linked arms and left the schoolhouse.
"Well, lunch time wasn't the same without you," Margaret disclosed, "but I appreciate the effort that you put into my birthday brownies. I know that baking isn't your strong suit."
Sadie laughed. "That's putting it mildly! Abby told me this morning that I should just stick to soup, and she's probably right. It was a bad idea to try out a new recipe on a school morning, though I hope that the next time around I'll have more luck. I do wish that I hadn't had to miss lunch on your birthday, though."
"Well, there will be other lunches and other birthdays," Margaret said consolingly.
They walked in companionable silence for a while. "So, do you want to tell me why you were so interested in the lesson today?" Margaret asked curiously, suddenly changing the subject. "I've never heard you ask so many questions in class."
Sadie sighed. She should have known that her best friend would have noticed. "I'm going to be tutoring one of our classmates who can't be in school right now," she explained, "and you know how academically-minded I am, Megs. I have to ask questions if I'm to have any hope of understanding the material...school isn't my strong suit any more than baking is."
"Wait…" Margaret's eyes narrowed. "You're not talking about David, are you? He's the only one who's missed class these last few days."
"Actually, Megs, that is who I'm talking about."
Margaret gave her an incredulous look. "How ever did you get roped into that?"
"I volunteered," Sadie admitted ruefully. "I'd be lying if I said that I didn't regret it, but it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time." Briefly, she filled her friend in on the circumstances that had necessitated Davey's absence from school.
"Well, isn't that kind of you to help him out!" Margaret exclaimed, clearly entertained at the thought. "I'm sure he's thrilled; he does seem like the bookish type, so it must be killing him not to be in class." Her smile turned teasing as she added, "If you keep this up, Sadie, you'll have him wrapped around your little finger in no time."
Sadie shot her an unamused look. "That's highly unlikely, Margaret."
"Don't play coy, Sadie," the other girl chided. "We both know that you can be charming when you want to be."
"I'm just trying to help him adjust, Megs. His family lives in our tenement, after all. And don't you remember what it felt like to be new and out of place? Aren't you glad that I made friends with you?"
"Yes, I am glad," Margaret said sincerely. Her family had moved to Manhattan almost five years ago, and she'd been grateful when Sadie had instantly befriended her, bringing her into a group of classmates that had made Margaret's adjustment to school much easier. "But I'm also not quite as susceptible to your charms as I'd imagine David would be," she added, unwilling to give up teasing her friend.
Sadie shook her head. "Davey's much too sensible to think anything of my pertness."
"'Davey'?" Margaret echoed, raising an eyebrow. "So he's got a nickname now?"
"Lay off it, Megs," Sadie warned. "I told you, I'm just trying to help him out, and I only tease him because he takes himself too seriously. I'm sure that if he was more comfortable, he'd open up, and I'd like to see him be more himself." She paused, then added thoughtfully, "I'm still convinced that he's a talker at heart and just needs to be drawn out."
"You're really making it hard for me not to wager on that with you," Margaret smirked. "But I know you're not a betting girl."
"That's fortunate for you in this case," Sadie retorted, smugly thinking of what she'd witnessed on her walk to school that very morning, "because I'm absolutely certain that I'd end up the winner."
She tugged on her friend's arm. "Come on, let's convince Abby to take a quick detour to the confectionery before we head home! I owe you a birthday treat."
A/N: I realize that this is yet another chapter moving us only a few hours further along in the canon timeline...thank you for humoring me, gracious readers. I sometimes consider cutting things out to try to keep everything moving a bit faster, but this is generally how the inner dialogue goes:
Me: What's it gonna take to stop the subplots? Are we ready?
Plot bunnies: NO!
Me: What's it gonna take to speed the pace up? Can we do it?
Plot bunnies: NO!
(Even though they ain't got hats or badges, they're clearly union...and they generally get their way). Thanks for reading! If you'd be so kind as to leave me a comment, I'd greatly appreciate it (and the plot bunnies would too!).
