Thick as Thieves

By Athena

Disclaimer: Yeah, I own Newsies. Right. And I'm just using my ownership to write fanfiction. The only things I do own here are Pocket, the Manhattan Pickpockets, the female Newsies, and anyone else not from Newsies (because all of that belongs to Disney; sadness). Enjoy!

The fall air was crisp and delicious, like the fresh, red apple in the stands Pocket was staring at as she hollered the day's headlines. Lunch was still hours away and the nuns hadn't shown up that morning since it was some random holy day of obligation and they were all too engaged in their prayers and Latin to feed the newsies. The brunette newsgirl had to stop herself from muttering very obscene phrases about the nuns. She had sinned enough in her life; she didn't need to add onto the list which would eventually get her into Hell.

She recalled Mrs. Whittle's shrill voice echoing throughout the Manhattan Orphanage with perfect clarity. "Hetty! HETTY THOMAS! Mark my words, girl you are going straight to Hell!" A five year-old Pocket, called Hetty then, found it quite ironic that Mrs. Whittle considered sleeping during chores to be a cardinal sin, but not imbibing like a drunken sailor (which the woman often did).

Famous racehoise missin'!" Tornado, Pocket's closest friend, exclaimed and waved a paper at arm's length over her head. "Police are baffled!"

Pocket giggled inwardly at the so-called headline. The racehorse in question had been retired, and the 'baffled police' (who were merely surprised at the lack of thefts in Central Park lately) were from another article on the same page.

"Police shocked and outraged at numbah of muggin's and amount of thievery in Central Pawk!" Pocket added to her best friend's cry. They turned to each other and couldn't help but laugh.

It had been a relatively good selling day, especially with the edition of the headlines about the 'shocked police' and the 'stolen racehorse'. Pocket wondered if she had earned enough money for that apple she had been eying so longingly earlier.

Ya know, ya ain't got ta use none of your money, a familiar, greedy and sly voice resonated inside her head.

She forcefully shook the thought out of her mind. No, I don't wanna do dat, she told herself firmly and couldn't gaze at the tempting apple again. She was beginning to feel rather like Adam and Eve, but wouldn't allow herself to succumb to the temptation. I don't have ta do dat anymore. I got money now.

"Hey, 'Ket," Tornado's voice invaded her inner conflict, "ya okay?"

The other girl nodded with a forced confidence and placed a smile on her lips. "Yeah, shoa," Pocket replied casually. "Say, how's about we head ovah ta Tibby's? I'se stawved, more den dat time when I was in Harlem and..." As the two made their way through the crowded streets, she began to tell yet another one of her stories, embellishing points here and there.

"...and lemme tell ya," Pocket breathed at the memory, "dis guy was huge. Big as a train station, and we wore all of dis jewelry. He got gold chains and ruby rings, prob'ly woith a king's ransom."

Tornado shook her head slowly in disbelief. "Aw, ya're makin' up dat part."

"Of course I ain't," Pocket shot back, honesty and hurt filling her eyes. Then, "All right, I might be exaggeratin' a liddle, but trus' me, dis guy was a sight. Man, I was coitain he was gonna soak me good. But den, outta nowheah, dis oddah guy appeahed. It was like-"

"Say, you'se two headed ta Tibby's?" a familiar voice inquired from behind. Racetrack jogged up to the girls with a ready grin. "I jus' made five dollahs down at da tracks. Bet on Valentine and da hoise finally paid off. I'se been waitin' a month for dis hoise ta do somet'ing right." He, wearing a boastful grin, extracted a wad of bills from his back pocket and waved it around in the air as if to say, 'See, I win sometimes!'

Pocket giggled in delight and clapped her hands together. "Good for ya, Race! Does dis mean you'se gonna take me out ta lunch tahday?" she questioned with her most charming smile.

Race chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders. "If you'se good."

Pocket's heart went fluttering against her rib cage as the three strolled into Tibby's where they were greeted by most of the Manhattan newsies.

"Heya, guys!" Kid Blink greeted chipperly and took a swig of his drink. The three grabbed seats and Race proceeded to brag about his win, nearly leaping up onto the table to proclaim his tale. Pocket couldn't stop giggling as Racetrack described every detail from the sound of the horses' hooves hitting the earth to the scent of the stables to the cheer of the crowd when Valentine crossed the finished line, beating out Summer Lighting by a hair.

It's weird ta t'ink dat he and I even speak now, she remarked to herself as Race was going on and on about his 'instincts' to bet on Valentine instead of his usual favorite, Paul Revere. Memories flooded her mind, and she was transported back to that cloudy Friday in March, more than two years ago....

To be continued…please review!