Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.


Chapter 47: Into the Basement

"Which one of you wise guys has the squeaky shoe?"

"It's Buttons!"

"It ain't me!"

"I just heard it squeak right now."

"That was a mouse! They's always comin' out at night to scavenge and such."

"Well whoever's got the squeaky shoe shoulda done somethin' about it before we left! Pulitzer's gonna hear us all the way from his mansion!"

"Heh, I'm pretty sure the old man's hearin' ain't that good."

"It was a joke, Elmer."

"You know what's a real joke, Al? Your face, that's what."

A loud thwack was heard, followed by a sharp "Ow!" and the sound of a scuffle.

"Quiet!" Jack ordered sternly from his place at the head of the line as he turned slightly over his shoulder. "I ain't tellin' you bummers again to stop the rough-housin'. If you can't walk nice an' orderly, I'm sendin' you back to the lodging house, ya hear?"

Murmurs of assent were heard from the offending parties, and Jack turned around and continued walking, the rest of the newsies following after him. They were attempting to make their way surreptitiously down Park Row to The World's headquarters where Katherine would be waiting to let them in, and thus far, they'd managed to avoid arousing any suspicions thanks to the lateness of the hour and the cover of darkness, but it was difficult to keep a group of rambunctious boys quiet for that long.

Race, bringing up the rear of the group, smiled sardonically to himself, thankful that he didn't have to be the one to break up these kinds of tussles anymore. He was content to hang back and observe, occasionally prodding a lagging newsie to pick up the pace, but otherwise left to amuse himself with the boys' collective inability to perform the simple task of walking quietly anywhere.

The massive New York World building loomed large against the night sky, and Race could see the dome at the very top where Pulitzer supposedly had his office. He wondered what it would feel like to sit up there every day, looking down on the entire city. If the rumors were true, Pulitzer had built his massive headquarters on the site of a hotel that he'd been thrown out of as a young man, a hotel that he'd later returned to buy and then raze to the ground before constructing his grand headquarters in its place.

It was a powerful and vindictive opponent that they were going up against, Race reflected, but Pulitzer wasn't the only one who knew how to settle a score.

The sight of approaching pedestrians up ahead drew him quickly out of his contemplation, and he found himself tensing a bit as the other party drew near. Depending on what kind of people they were, this could mean trouble - there weren't too many respectable folks who would be out this late at night wandering around. Jack would likely be able to smooth-talk his way out of any incriminating questions, but all they needed was one person reporting them to the police, and they'd be sunk.

Race shook his head. Since when was he one to worry? Figuring out those things wasn't his job anymore, but clearly his short stint as interim leader had left its mark, and it probably didn't help that his closest collaborator for the past two weeks had been an anxious overthinking worry-wart like -

"Davey!" came a hushed whisper from up ahead. "Look, it's Davey and Les!"

Race felt himself relaxing instantly. Sure enough, as the pedestrians came closer, he could see that they were indeed the Jacobs brothers. Jack slowed the group to a stop, exchanged a few quick words with Davey, then continued walking. Les stayed up at the front of the group (no doubt trying to remain as close to Jack as possible), but Davey let the line pass him by, then fell into step beside Race as he'd been in the habit of doing whenever the newsies had traveled together.

"So, the kid convinced you to let him come along after all, huh?" Race observed, elbowing his friend in the arm.

Davey sighed. "Yeah, he did." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's a long story."

"We got time."

"It's not very interesting."

"You's always sayin' that," Race pointed out. "And each time you say it, it gets harder to believe you's tellin' the truth."

"We've got more important things to think about," Davey answered shortly, sounding a little on edge.

Race shrugged. "I'll get it outta you someday."

He returned his gaze to the colossal form of The World building. They would be there very soon.

"So, you think this is it?" he asked aloud, changing the subject. "All of that shoutin' and sweatin' and speechifyin' - it's all comin' down to tonight?"

"I hope so," Davey answered. "If this doesn't work, I'm out of ideas."

Race scoffed quietly. Davey would never be out of ideas, he was sure of it, but he understood the sentiment. It was time for this to be settled.

They arrived at The World.

Katherine was waiting for them, and beside her, half-hidden in the shadows, were Spot and four of his Brooklyn boys. Jack circled the newsies up (with yet another reminder to keep their voices down), then greeted Spot with a spit-shake. They'd apparently made their peace the day before, when Jack had gone down to Brooklyn to speak with Spot himself. Whatever he'd said must have convinced the stoic leader on the other side of the Bridge to allow Jack back into his good graces, and Race was thankful for that, for it was never advisable to be on Spot's bad side.

"My boys will keep watch outside the buildin'," the Brooklyn leadersaid, motioning to the burly newsies beside him. "They'll warn us if anyone's actin' suspicious and will hold off whoever they can until we's clear."

Jack nodded appreciatively. "Good." He turned to Katherine. "Guess we might as well get to it, then." He gave her a little bow. "Lead on, Plumber."

The former reporter took command eagerly, leading the newsies around to the side of the building where a short flight of stairs led down to what Race assumed was the entrance to the basement. At the top of the stairs, Katherine stopped, turning to Jack.

"It might be better to have some of the boys wait here until we've made sure that everything's clear," she said. "I don't think Father employs a night watchman, but we'd better check anyway. If everything's fine, we'll bring the rest in."

Jack nodded. "Spot?" he asked. "Can you keep the fellas in line for a spell?"

The Brooklyn leader nodded, and the newsies, Race noticed, automatically stood up a little straighter. They probably wouldn't move (or even breathe) until Jack returned. It had been a good decision to leave Spot in charge.

"Racer. Dave." Jack beckoned. "You's comin' with us."

Davey bent down to whisper some last-minute instructions to Les (probably a warning that he'd better listen to Spot or else), then he and Race walked over to join Katherine and Jack, and the four of them made their way down the stairs. At the bottom of the flight, Katherine pulled a ring of keys out of her handbag.

"Been pickin' Pulitzer's pocket?" Jack asked jokingly.

The woman shook her head. "This is the janitor's set of keys," she said. "He hasn't had a raise in twenty years, so it wasn't hard to convince him to look the other way while we snuck in. If there's anyone who knows the miserly nature of my father first-hand, it's him."

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, Jack and Davey following her and Race looking up to give the rest of the newsies a cocky grin and a salute before ducking inside as well. It was almost completely dark, and he abruptly stumbled into Davey, who had stopped short as he and Jack waited for Katherine to locate the light switch.

"Watch where you're going, Race," Davey muttered anxiously.

"Tryin', Dave, tryin,'" Race responded. "Relax a little, all right? Ain't no reason for you to be so jittery."

"We're breaking into one of the most powerful men in New York's headquarters where he may or may not have a guard on patrol," the other boy replied tersely. "Of course there's a reason to be jittery."

"You knew we was gonna be doin' this two days ago," Race reminded him.

"Well, it's different when you're actually doing it, all right?"

"Ah, come on," Race cheerfully clapped his friend on the back. "Don't tell me you left your sense of adventure behind!"

"Didn't leave it; never had it," came the sarcastic response.

The lights flickered on, and both boys both instinctively threw up their hands to shield their eyes from the glare. Once his vision had adjusted, Race slowly took a look around the room.

It was fairly large and mostly vacant, but there were several filing cabinets off to one side and a few canvas-covered objects (probably furniture) clustered at the far end of the room where a tall staircase led up to a door that probably opened up to the inside of the building. In the center of the room was a large, complicated-looking machine with gears and handles and who knew what else.

Was that really what they were going to print the papes on?

A sound was heard on the steps behind them, and Race turned to see Spot peeking his head in. "Hey," he said, "I got a couple of swells up here sayin' they know the lady. You want me to let 'em in?"

"Hey, Katherine," Race called over to the former reporter. "You expectin' some blue-blooded company?"

Her eyes lit up. "Yes I am! Perfect timing!" Jack shot her a confused look, but she missed his bewilderment completely, evidently pleased that her wealthy associates (whoever they were) had shown up to join them.

Race gave Spot a little nod, and the Brooklyn leader hurried back up the stairs. A few moments later, a pair of well-dressed gentlemen appeared in the doorway.

Katherine walked over to greet them.

"Bill, Darcy," she said, taking each of them by the arm, "let me introduce you to someone." She pulled them over to where she'd left Jack. "This is Jack Kelly, the leader of the Lower Manhattan newsies and the face of the strike. Jack, these are my friends, Darcy and Bill. They're going to help us with the printing tonight."

She smiled brightly, and Race, observing the encounter from his place off to the side, watched as the three young men sized each other up.

"So, you, uh, work for the papes?" Jack asked tentatively.

"Bill's father owns The Journal, and Darcy's father owns The Tribune," Katherine supplied.

Race exchanged a surprised look with Davey. So these weren't just any old upper-crusters.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jack," Bill said, his cheerful demeanor breaking the ice a little. "Your revolution for the rights of the newsboys has been fascinating, and I'm proud to be part of it!" He held out his hand, and Race saw Jack just barely check his well-ingrained habit of spitting before shaking. Fortunately, he recovered in time and managed the exchange without incident.

"Bill was here earlier this evening typesetting the article for us," Katherine said as her friend removed his coat and hat and began rolling up his sleeves. "He's got just a few final adjustments to make. Darcy will be overseeing the printing."

The aforementioned Darcy was still eyeing Jack warily, and Race shot another look at Davey, wondering if his friend was picking up on the same signs that he was seeing. Clearly there was some kind of silent appraisal going on (Jack seemed to be returning the favor), and neither party appeared to be especially pleased at what he saw.

"This should be interesting," Davey muttered, so quietly that only Race could hear.

"You think they's fightin' over Katherine?" Race asked in an equally low voice.

"They're definitely fighting over Katherine." Davey sounded slightly annoyed.

"Go give 'em one of your lectures about how we got more important things to think about," Race whispered, giving his friend a nudge. "The longer we stand here, the bigger chance that guard you's worried about is gonna find out we's here."

Davey looked like he sorely wanted to follow the suggestion, but before he could do anything about it, they saw Jack grin disarmingly before deliberately spitting in his hand and offering it to Darcy.

"Good to meet ya, Darcy," he said affably (and if Race hadn't known him better, he would have completely missed the gleam in the newsie leader's eye). "Any friend of Plumber's is a friend of mine, and it's real nice of you to come down here to help us out. Real nice."

The look of utter repulsion on Darcy's face would have made a man less sure of himself retract the gesture, but Jack didn't even flinch. He left his hand extended for several seconds, his grin growing wider and smugger the longer Darcy hesitated. Finally, Jack pointedly drew his hand back. "Sorry," he smirked, his tone indicating that he was anything but. He wiped his hand on his trousers and re-offered it to Darcy, who reluctantly shook it this time.

Katherine, oblivious to the wordless jockeying taking place, beamed. "Oh, and Darcy, Bill - these are Jack's partners in the strike effort," she added. "This is Race, and next to him is Davey."

Everyone politely nodded their hellos, clearly in agreement that it would be best to avoid handshaking of any kind at this point. Race was slightly amused at the unexpected turn of events, but he could tell that Davey was ready for the introductions to be over with so that they could get down to business.

"How does the printing press look, Darcy?" Katherine asked as her friend gave it a methodical examination. "It seems like it's been down here for a while."

Darcy nodded. "I could see why they've sent this old girl out to pasture, but she looks like she's got some life in her yet." He knelt down and fiddled with a few components of the machine before straightening up and declaring, "With a little grease, I think she'll do the job."

"Excellent!" Katherine clapped her hands. She looked at Jack. "Well...what do you think? Is it time to get this show on the road?"

Jack nodded. "You bet. We got a lot of printin' to do if we's gonna be spreadin' this pape to every workin' kid in New York." He looked over at Davey and Race.

"Fellas, I'm gonna have you handlin' the paper bundlin' and distribution. You figure out where to send the boys and how many papes they's gonna need and then send 'em, all right? Spot's boys are gonna take Brooklyn, so you don't haf'ta worry about that, but we gotta cover everywhere else."

"We'll need to think about timing," Davey said, immediately jumping into the logistics of the matter. "Some of the smaller shops and workplaces won't be open yet, so we should probably start at the bigger factories, or maybe at the docks, places where the employees usually get an early start."

"You work on that and I'll handle groupin' up the boys," Race said. "We's gonna need to have the fastest ones take the furthest locations so they don't get back too late."

"While you's figurin' that out, let's let the boys in so they can help with the printin'," Jack said. "It's gonna be all hands on deck 'till this thing's over."

Race nodded, feeling his excitement grow as he hurried back towards the stairs to signal Spot and the newsies. Just as he'd expected, when he peeked outside, he saw that the newsies were indeed waiting, silent and still in an orderly group, Spot standing in front of them with his arms crossed.

"Hey!" Race whispered. "Jacky says it's all clear!"

Spot nodded, jerking his head in the direction of the door, and the newsies hurriedly scrambled towards the stairs, almost tripping over each other in their eagerness to get in on the action (and probably to be out from under the scrutinizing eye of the Brooklyn leader as well).

Race grinned, calling out a warning to those inside as the small army of newsies thundered down the stairs and burst into the basement.

"Heeeere they come!"