DISCLAIMER – I do not own the Newsies, or anything else by Disney for that
matter. I do own Pistol, Misery, Bourbon, Riddle, Rags, Ladybug, Mockery,
Shakes, Becca, and any other of my characters that appear.
I also don't own Pokey, Jaws (Jocelyn) or Joaquin. They are owned by Pokey1 and Jocelyn Padoga.
A/N – Geez a story that ISN'T about Spot or Racetrack. I don't know folks; this may be more than I can chew. We'll see.......*crosses fingers* -- A/N
New York City – circa. 1890
"Jacob if you don't get your butt back here, I'll..." the tiny skinny girl charged after the laughing seven year old boy, her legs pumping, pale, bruised shins flashing underneath the skirts of her faded, homespun dress.
Jacob, a sturdy boy with burnished gold hair that always seemed to fall into his face and laughing blue eyes ran ahead of the girl carrying her doll in his hand. The girl, her copper braids streaming behind her grunted in determination and as he sidestepped a pickle vendor, she went in for the kill, hollering bloody murder and leaping onto his back.
They fell into a heap of limbs and curses on the sidewalk until the girl neatly elbowed Jacob in the gut and rose, cradling her doll tenderly although it was a miserable looking toy to say the least. Clumps of yarn hair were missing, and its stitched mouth was half-unraveled. But the girl seemed to treasure it for she dreamily walked back down the way they had come, singing to it.
Jacob Needham sat on the sidewalk in a daze looking after the sprite of a girl. It was widely known that her mother had been sent to an asylum after giving birth to a stillborn set of twins. The girl, Nora McGovern lived with her strictly religious elderly aunt and uncle in Manhattan. Jacob was a Bowery kid, his father one of the older members of the Bowery Boys, a notorious New York City street gang.
Though not so much nearly as active as decades before, the Bowery Boys still ruled parts of the Bowery dressing highly different from their ancestors but still striving to maintain that certain dashing look to their murderous affairs. As a matter of fact, it was the Bowery they were playing in at the moment, Nora having run away from her governess for the third time that week at the sound of Jacob's whistle.
The two children had grown up together before Nora's mother had been sent away, their mother's being best friends and father's before Nora's had died in a fire, 'business acquaintances'. Jacob leapt to his feet and dashed after the six year old girl, grabbing her arm as she nearly slipped away into the crowd.
"You got rocks in your head? This is the Bowery you don't just walk off like that in the Bowery. Dumb girl, do I always hafta look out for you?" Nora sneered and stuck her tongue out at him.
"No, you don't. But then your mam would get mad at you and you'd get a spankin'." Jacob tittered and walked alongside the girl for a moment or two before looking up at the sky.
"Your governess is going to be mad at you by now." Nora shrugged and squeezed her natty doll to her.
"That's okay Molly won't let her bother me." Jacob raised an eyebrow at the girl. 'Molly' was her name for her doll. The girl caught his look and aimed a kick at his backside.
"Don't you look at me like that Jacob!" she screeched. He grinned and winked at her his eyes shining before dropping her off at the bench where her governess had first 'lost' her, in a park just outside the Bowery. He then slunk off to hide and keep an eye on the little girl till her tall, severely thin governess dressed in unrelieved black swooped down on her, berating her a mile a minute.
Jacob saw Nora's lower lip quiver before she stomped her foot and started shaking her own finger back up at the woman which caused her to grab Nora's upper arm and shake her slightly before dragging her down the street. Jacob sighed and headed for home.
Home was a small tenement building that the Bowery Boys had commandeered. Jacob trotted past a group of them who sprawled on the front steps drinking and smoking and quickly made his way through the dimly lit halls that smelled like urine and were littered with trash.
His father lived in an apartment on the second floor, a small hole in the wall where they ate only what he brought home from some vendor at night, and slept on stained mattresses on the floor. Jacob wondered what it had been like when his Ma had been around, but he'd been so young when she was taken back East by her family. He also used to wonder why he hadn't been taken too, but he later was told by his father in a drunken haze that he had kept Jacob around so he could help him 'make money'.
Making money involved pick-pocketing and little bouts of theft here and there. Usually he did this with other children of the Bowery Boys but he also ran around with another group of boys in Manhattan. They were just runaways or orphans, kids nobody wanted. Most of them sold papers for a living, as young as they were. He had visited the lodging house many a time and was always watched knowingly by the house manager, an aging man named Kloppman.
Jacob strolled into the apartment building to be met by a cloud of smoke and a group of men huddled around their scarred, kitchen table. Jacob's father raised his head and peered through the badly lit room and waved the boy over. Jacob uneasily went to his father's side.
"What'd you make today?" His father's breath reeked of alcohol and he bit the tip of his cigar and spat it away from him savagely. Jacob tentatively reached into the pocket of his short pants and pulled out a pocket watch, five dollars, and lady's bracelet. His father smiled, his stained teeth disgusting Jacob, but leaving him with a warm feeling inside when his father reached over and ruffled his hair.
"Good boy! There's food on the counter over there, go eat you're scrawny as Hell." This was met with laughter by the rest of the men while Jacob ignored it and clambered up onto a stool to eat at the counter. His father had brought home a couple of hot dogs and a bottle of soda pop for him. He ate hungrily pausing only long enough to gulp down the sweet drink. When he was finally done he belched loudly, stringing it out and making sounds.
"Sweet Jesus Kid," his father's friend Timothy said looking at him with admiring eyes. Most of the men and even the newsies called him 'Kid'. When he first met the newsies their leader, Flick had taken to calling him 'Kid' and his father and his friend's called him that because he was certain they had forgotten his name.
"Kid, we're going to need you to be a watch out tonight." Jacob felt excitement course through him as he bounded back over to his father's side. His father, his once bright blonde hair now dull and thinning placed a hand on his son's back and explained the deal.
They were going to loot a warehouse down by the River that had just taken a shipment in of expensive liquors. The territory was watched over by Rip Brannigan's gang but with Jacob and a few other children posing as sentries, they could be in and out of their in no time.
Jacob knew better than to argue with his father, or disagree with any scheme that he came up with so he found himself at the stroke of midnight, sitting on a barrel next to Timothy's son a happy boy that was named Matthew but whom everyone called Mush because of his fondness for oatmeal and porridge.
The two were close friends, and whenever he wasn't chasing Nora down the streets of the Bowery, he was usually found with Mush. They sat listening for any trouble, playing with a battered deck of cards Mush had brought along.
The night was still, the only sounds coming from the water lapping at the dock's a distance away and the scuffling sounds of people walking on the streets. But nobody was down at the docks except for the Bowery Boys. Or so they thought.
Shouts erupted in the night, and Jacob and Mush looked at each other in wide-eyed shock. Mush's brown eyes were scared, and he jammed his cabby hat onto his head before jerking a chin at Jacob.
"Let's get out of here that came over by Nat's post. We should go see if him and Sean are alright." Jacob nodded, feeling a sense of foreboding come over his young mind. Something bad was going to happen if they went over there, he could feel it. But if he didn't, then his father would throw a fit and a few fists at him as well.
Together the two small boys made their way down to the warehouse, creeping along in the shadows. Whistles blew shrilly, and Jacob grabbed Mush's shoulder as a pack of police officers stampeded by. Ducking down into a space hidden by a few barrels and crates, the two boys waited. Soon enough, a group of Bowery Boys were herded past them towards a paddy wagon that had pulled up. Jacob and Mush watched as their father's, Nat, Sean and other Bowery Boys were loaded inside.
When the paddy wagon pulled away with a screech of its tires, Jacob leaned against a barrel and let out a shaky breath. Mush did so as well, taking off his hat to wipe a hand through his brown curls.
"That was so close," he hissed, raising his upper body slightly to peer over a barrel. Jacob nodded but was suddenly yanked up by a large fist that grasped the front of his shirt and held him mid-air effortlessly.
"Well, well, what do we have here? Some of the Bowery Brats I gather? Looks like these nits got left behind." A group of men as nasty looking as the Bowery Boys had gathered in the lane, their arms crossed as they looked over the boys. Jacob gulped furiously, his legs kicking in the air. One of his feet connected with the man's privates and he dropped Jacob howling in pain.
"Teach that little shit a lesson!" he cried out as he writhed in agony on the ground. Mush was forgotten as the men set about methodically beating a seven year old boy. The last thing Jacob remembered was the crack of a belt and the burning pain as it sliced across his face.
When Jacob awoke, he lay in a white bed, in a white room, surrounded by the color white. In fact the only thing that wasn't white was Mush, curled up in a chair by the bed. Raising a hand to his face, he whimpered in confusion at the white gauzy bandage that was wrapped around his head and one of his eyes. Mush jerked awake and looked at Jacob, yawning.
"Wh...Where am I?" Jacob stuttered, feeling a stabbing pain go through his head.
"And what happened to my head?" Mush chuckled at the first statement, but grew sober with the last. Rising, he trudged over to Jacob's side and put a hand on his friend's small shoulder.
"You're in a hospital, Kid. And as for the last part, well...Brannigan's boys, they sort of whipped ya real good. One of 'em hit your eye with his belt and the doc had to remove it." Mush had none of the subtleness of an adult, which Jacob was glad for, but he felt tears coming out of his good eye as he sobbed into the pillow.
"I only have one eye?" Mush nodded then thought for a moment.
"Hey it won't be so bad, you get to wear this!" He produced a brown leather patch with strings hanging down from his dusky colored hand. Jacob gave him a look and Mush curbed some of his enthusiasm. Really, the boy couldn't help it he was born that way.
Jacob rolled over so that his back was to Mush. He was now one of those children that survived only by the pity of strangers. A beggar. He had been reduced to their ranks. He didn't care when Mush gave up trying to comfort him and left. He felt nothing but disbelief and sadness. Crying himself to sleep, he didn't even care if he woke up.
I also don't own Pokey, Jaws (Jocelyn) or Joaquin. They are owned by Pokey1 and Jocelyn Padoga.
A/N – Geez a story that ISN'T about Spot or Racetrack. I don't know folks; this may be more than I can chew. We'll see.......*crosses fingers* -- A/N
New York City – circa. 1890
"Jacob if you don't get your butt back here, I'll..." the tiny skinny girl charged after the laughing seven year old boy, her legs pumping, pale, bruised shins flashing underneath the skirts of her faded, homespun dress.
Jacob, a sturdy boy with burnished gold hair that always seemed to fall into his face and laughing blue eyes ran ahead of the girl carrying her doll in his hand. The girl, her copper braids streaming behind her grunted in determination and as he sidestepped a pickle vendor, she went in for the kill, hollering bloody murder and leaping onto his back.
They fell into a heap of limbs and curses on the sidewalk until the girl neatly elbowed Jacob in the gut and rose, cradling her doll tenderly although it was a miserable looking toy to say the least. Clumps of yarn hair were missing, and its stitched mouth was half-unraveled. But the girl seemed to treasure it for she dreamily walked back down the way they had come, singing to it.
Jacob Needham sat on the sidewalk in a daze looking after the sprite of a girl. It was widely known that her mother had been sent to an asylum after giving birth to a stillborn set of twins. The girl, Nora McGovern lived with her strictly religious elderly aunt and uncle in Manhattan. Jacob was a Bowery kid, his father one of the older members of the Bowery Boys, a notorious New York City street gang.
Though not so much nearly as active as decades before, the Bowery Boys still ruled parts of the Bowery dressing highly different from their ancestors but still striving to maintain that certain dashing look to their murderous affairs. As a matter of fact, it was the Bowery they were playing in at the moment, Nora having run away from her governess for the third time that week at the sound of Jacob's whistle.
The two children had grown up together before Nora's mother had been sent away, their mother's being best friends and father's before Nora's had died in a fire, 'business acquaintances'. Jacob leapt to his feet and dashed after the six year old girl, grabbing her arm as she nearly slipped away into the crowd.
"You got rocks in your head? This is the Bowery you don't just walk off like that in the Bowery. Dumb girl, do I always hafta look out for you?" Nora sneered and stuck her tongue out at him.
"No, you don't. But then your mam would get mad at you and you'd get a spankin'." Jacob tittered and walked alongside the girl for a moment or two before looking up at the sky.
"Your governess is going to be mad at you by now." Nora shrugged and squeezed her natty doll to her.
"That's okay Molly won't let her bother me." Jacob raised an eyebrow at the girl. 'Molly' was her name for her doll. The girl caught his look and aimed a kick at his backside.
"Don't you look at me like that Jacob!" she screeched. He grinned and winked at her his eyes shining before dropping her off at the bench where her governess had first 'lost' her, in a park just outside the Bowery. He then slunk off to hide and keep an eye on the little girl till her tall, severely thin governess dressed in unrelieved black swooped down on her, berating her a mile a minute.
Jacob saw Nora's lower lip quiver before she stomped her foot and started shaking her own finger back up at the woman which caused her to grab Nora's upper arm and shake her slightly before dragging her down the street. Jacob sighed and headed for home.
Home was a small tenement building that the Bowery Boys had commandeered. Jacob trotted past a group of them who sprawled on the front steps drinking and smoking and quickly made his way through the dimly lit halls that smelled like urine and were littered with trash.
His father lived in an apartment on the second floor, a small hole in the wall where they ate only what he brought home from some vendor at night, and slept on stained mattresses on the floor. Jacob wondered what it had been like when his Ma had been around, but he'd been so young when she was taken back East by her family. He also used to wonder why he hadn't been taken too, but he later was told by his father in a drunken haze that he had kept Jacob around so he could help him 'make money'.
Making money involved pick-pocketing and little bouts of theft here and there. Usually he did this with other children of the Bowery Boys but he also ran around with another group of boys in Manhattan. They were just runaways or orphans, kids nobody wanted. Most of them sold papers for a living, as young as they were. He had visited the lodging house many a time and was always watched knowingly by the house manager, an aging man named Kloppman.
Jacob strolled into the apartment building to be met by a cloud of smoke and a group of men huddled around their scarred, kitchen table. Jacob's father raised his head and peered through the badly lit room and waved the boy over. Jacob uneasily went to his father's side.
"What'd you make today?" His father's breath reeked of alcohol and he bit the tip of his cigar and spat it away from him savagely. Jacob tentatively reached into the pocket of his short pants and pulled out a pocket watch, five dollars, and lady's bracelet. His father smiled, his stained teeth disgusting Jacob, but leaving him with a warm feeling inside when his father reached over and ruffled his hair.
"Good boy! There's food on the counter over there, go eat you're scrawny as Hell." This was met with laughter by the rest of the men while Jacob ignored it and clambered up onto a stool to eat at the counter. His father had brought home a couple of hot dogs and a bottle of soda pop for him. He ate hungrily pausing only long enough to gulp down the sweet drink. When he was finally done he belched loudly, stringing it out and making sounds.
"Sweet Jesus Kid," his father's friend Timothy said looking at him with admiring eyes. Most of the men and even the newsies called him 'Kid'. When he first met the newsies their leader, Flick had taken to calling him 'Kid' and his father and his friend's called him that because he was certain they had forgotten his name.
"Kid, we're going to need you to be a watch out tonight." Jacob felt excitement course through him as he bounded back over to his father's side. His father, his once bright blonde hair now dull and thinning placed a hand on his son's back and explained the deal.
They were going to loot a warehouse down by the River that had just taken a shipment in of expensive liquors. The territory was watched over by Rip Brannigan's gang but with Jacob and a few other children posing as sentries, they could be in and out of their in no time.
Jacob knew better than to argue with his father, or disagree with any scheme that he came up with so he found himself at the stroke of midnight, sitting on a barrel next to Timothy's son a happy boy that was named Matthew but whom everyone called Mush because of his fondness for oatmeal and porridge.
The two were close friends, and whenever he wasn't chasing Nora down the streets of the Bowery, he was usually found with Mush. They sat listening for any trouble, playing with a battered deck of cards Mush had brought along.
The night was still, the only sounds coming from the water lapping at the dock's a distance away and the scuffling sounds of people walking on the streets. But nobody was down at the docks except for the Bowery Boys. Or so they thought.
Shouts erupted in the night, and Jacob and Mush looked at each other in wide-eyed shock. Mush's brown eyes were scared, and he jammed his cabby hat onto his head before jerking a chin at Jacob.
"Let's get out of here that came over by Nat's post. We should go see if him and Sean are alright." Jacob nodded, feeling a sense of foreboding come over his young mind. Something bad was going to happen if they went over there, he could feel it. But if he didn't, then his father would throw a fit and a few fists at him as well.
Together the two small boys made their way down to the warehouse, creeping along in the shadows. Whistles blew shrilly, and Jacob grabbed Mush's shoulder as a pack of police officers stampeded by. Ducking down into a space hidden by a few barrels and crates, the two boys waited. Soon enough, a group of Bowery Boys were herded past them towards a paddy wagon that had pulled up. Jacob and Mush watched as their father's, Nat, Sean and other Bowery Boys were loaded inside.
When the paddy wagon pulled away with a screech of its tires, Jacob leaned against a barrel and let out a shaky breath. Mush did so as well, taking off his hat to wipe a hand through his brown curls.
"That was so close," he hissed, raising his upper body slightly to peer over a barrel. Jacob nodded but was suddenly yanked up by a large fist that grasped the front of his shirt and held him mid-air effortlessly.
"Well, well, what do we have here? Some of the Bowery Brats I gather? Looks like these nits got left behind." A group of men as nasty looking as the Bowery Boys had gathered in the lane, their arms crossed as they looked over the boys. Jacob gulped furiously, his legs kicking in the air. One of his feet connected with the man's privates and he dropped Jacob howling in pain.
"Teach that little shit a lesson!" he cried out as he writhed in agony on the ground. Mush was forgotten as the men set about methodically beating a seven year old boy. The last thing Jacob remembered was the crack of a belt and the burning pain as it sliced across his face.
When Jacob awoke, he lay in a white bed, in a white room, surrounded by the color white. In fact the only thing that wasn't white was Mush, curled up in a chair by the bed. Raising a hand to his face, he whimpered in confusion at the white gauzy bandage that was wrapped around his head and one of his eyes. Mush jerked awake and looked at Jacob, yawning.
"Wh...Where am I?" Jacob stuttered, feeling a stabbing pain go through his head.
"And what happened to my head?" Mush chuckled at the first statement, but grew sober with the last. Rising, he trudged over to Jacob's side and put a hand on his friend's small shoulder.
"You're in a hospital, Kid. And as for the last part, well...Brannigan's boys, they sort of whipped ya real good. One of 'em hit your eye with his belt and the doc had to remove it." Mush had none of the subtleness of an adult, which Jacob was glad for, but he felt tears coming out of his good eye as he sobbed into the pillow.
"I only have one eye?" Mush nodded then thought for a moment.
"Hey it won't be so bad, you get to wear this!" He produced a brown leather patch with strings hanging down from his dusky colored hand. Jacob gave him a look and Mush curbed some of his enthusiasm. Really, the boy couldn't help it he was born that way.
Jacob rolled over so that his back was to Mush. He was now one of those children that survived only by the pity of strangers. A beggar. He had been reduced to their ranks. He didn't care when Mush gave up trying to comfort him and left. He felt nothing but disbelief and sadness. Crying himself to sleep, he didn't even care if he woke up.