Forsaken Promises
by Whiskey
The bunkhouse was serene and calm; the only sounds breaking the tranquil silence belonged to routine offenders. Mush murmured unintelligibly and Dutchy snored lightly, and in the background Itey tossed about in his sleep. The rest of the denizens were peacefully sprawled out across the length of their bunks, unaware of what they were about to be subjected to.
“Wake up ya lousy bums, yer sleepin’ ya lives away!” Kloppman yelled at the top of his lungs, as he walked through the rows of bunks shaking the boys awake. “Snoddy, get up, don’t make me tell ya a second time or dere’ll be hell ta pay!” “Race, up and at ‘em, you got money just beggin’ ta be lost.” “Bumlets get your lazy bum outta bed!” “Cowboy, youse the worst one of them all, be a leader, they might follow by example!”
The quietness in the bunkroom was replaced by moans and foul words murmured under boys breaths as they shuffled towards the washroom in varying degrees of clothing, their hair in disarray. As Kloppman left exited the room he could hear the boys start to break out into song. ‘Never fails’ he thought, shaking his head as he headed off towards the girls bunkroom.
‘Christ, here comes the old man, just waitin’ ta toss us all outta bed’ Whiskey thought grumpily upon hearing Kloppman walking towards the girls bunkroom. She pulled the covers up farther over her head and sunk deeper in to the pillow, trying to escape the start of the day. Giving in to the inevitable, she rubbed the sleep out of her crystal clear green eyes and sat up. Her slightly wavy, auburn hair was all over the place, and she combed it out of her face with her fingers as she surveyed the rest of the bunkroom.
Books was already dressed and ready to go, her dark brown hair was braided in a neat queue down her back, and she was taking advantage of the first rays of morning by sitting on the windowsill and reading her favorite book for the umpteenth time. Her emerald eyes scanned each page eagerly. Everyone else was sound asleep, ‘Not for long’ Whiskey thought as she heard Kloppman pause outside of the door.
Kloppman knocked twice loudly on the door, interrupting the solitude that had been both Books and her early morning sanctuary. “Everybody decent?” he asked from outside the door.
“Nah, we’se all sleepin’ in da buff, Klopp,” Whiskey stated sarcastically, her voice still raspy with sleep, sounding nothing like its usual velvety tune. She rolled out of her top bunk, dressed in a white tank top undershirt and knickers and proceeded to throw her favorite cream-colored shirt over them.
“Well then, Whiskey, since you’re awake enough to be crackin’ jokes, you have the honor of rousing these sleeping princesses, good luck!”
Whiskey moaned and threw on her only pair pants. Mumbling obscenities under her breath, she half-heartedly went around waking the rest of the girls in the room.
~**~
‘Damn work was good taday!’ Whiskey thought as she felt her pocket heavy with change, some guy had even given her a quarter because he was in a hurry and wanted the news badly. ‘Ain’t no skin off a my back’ she thought as she walked towards Medda’s where she was supposed to meet the rest of the newsies for drinks and poker. ‘Medda’ll be crooning in dat same ol’ fake accent she does every time’ she thought with a smile as she walked into the saloon.
She spotted lots of Manhattan newsies and a handful of Brooklyn newsies, including Mix, who was busy making the best of her time with Snoddy over in the corner. Her long black hair had been coaxed out of its tight braid, and strands were poking out all over the place, most likely by Snoddy’s roaming hands.
Whiskey smiled longingly in their direction, a little jealous of their relationship. She couldn’t remember someone she’d gone out with for more than one date, and a small frown came over her face as she recalled that fact.
The bar was buzzing with activity, and she was forced to push her way through a sea of newsies in order to reach the counter. While she was waiting for her order, she continued to skim the room, looking for familiar faces. Most of those she recognized consisted of couples, singing together, dancing together, or making the best of their time together like Mix and Snoddy.
Race was surrounded by a small group of people, Porcelyn hanging off of his arm and Blink and Fairy laughing at his antics, their blue eyes sparkling. ‘Just wait until he’s at the poker table, den dat clown’s all business’ she thought with a smirk.
From where she was seated she watched Hazard sneak up on Bumlets and steal his cap that she covered her short black bob with before running off, Bumlets hot on her trail. Skittery threw his head back and laughed out loud, looked extremely pleased with something Hart had said, while her golden eyes glittered and her curly blond hair bouncing up and down as the two laughed together. ‘Finally Skitt’s found a gal to make him loosen up a little’ she thought as she slowly sipped her brandy, her eyes still coursing around the room.
Across the room she spotted Enchanted curled up in Mush’s lap whispering something extremely suggestive into his ear, if the color of Mush’s face was any indication. Her full lips formed a big grin as she continued to make Mush uncomfortable.
Whiskey laughed out loud at the sight and made her way over towards the group of single guys. “Heya boys, miss me?” she asked with a wickedly suggestive smile, taking a seat next to her best friend, Specs.
“Always sugah!” Pie Eater joked as he leaned back on his chair too far and wobbled drunkenly before being righted by Specs who was sitting right next to him.
“Hey! Who’s up for a game of poker?” Race yelled above the din after the song stopped.
“Not me,” Whiskey commented under her breath, she wasn’t a bad poker player, but compared to Jack, Autumn, Spot Conlon and Luna, whom she spotted sauntering over to take up Race on his offer, it was guaranteed she’d lose every hand. She watched Luna and Spot, mirror images of confidence and determination as they approached Race, Luna’s jet black hair catching the light and shining brightly from under her cap.
“Actually I’m gonna call it quits a little early tonight,” Whiskey promised herself out loud. “No more drinks, no more gambling. Got it Specs? Specs? Where’d dat bastad run off ta?” she thought out loud, getting up and searching for him.
She ran into Spades Fire half way across the hall. “Heya Spades, how’s it goin’? Not too shabby if dat grin on yer face means da same thing it did last time. Dat why I didn’t see ya when I got here? Was ya too busy elsewhere?” Whiskey joked lightheartedly with the Brooklyn newsie and her boyfriend Blue O’Reilly.
“You seen Specs anywhere?” Whiskey asked dodging a playful punch from Spades.
“Saw was wandering around earlier, talkin’ ta Dutchy an dat new gal, Books,” Spades replied a bit distracted.
Whiskey followed her gaze and spotted two of the Brooklyn girls hitting on Pie Eater, Jake, Swifty, and a couple of others.
“Looks like Coffee an Scam are havin’ demselves a grand ol time! I just wonder where their dates are?” Spades cackled, tossing her hair over her shoulder and hitting Blue in the face with it, which only induced more laughter.
“Dutchy!” Whiskey screamed above the roar of the newsies. “You seen Specs?”
“He went outside for some fresh air,” Dutchy replied before leaning in and giving Books a playful peck on the cheek as he ran his fingers through her chocolate colored hair loose and wavy from the braid she’d had it in earlier.
“Tanks,” Whiskey mumbled in reply before stepping outside. She whistled as she walked around looking for Specs. Her foot ran into something warm and soft sticking half way out of the nearby alley.
“What da hell?” she said leaning down and examining what it was she’d caught her foot on. “Snipeshooter?! Oh, oh, dis is bad! SPECS!!!!!” Whiskey screamed, hoping to attract help from someone else if not him. ‘Not again, not again!’ Whiskey thought frantically. Red was all she could see; she wouldn’t let this happen again, not like it happened with her brother years ago, not if she could help it.
To her relief he came running in the direction of her scream.
“What? What is it?” he asked as he came upon Whiskey bent over, halfway in the alley.
“It’s Snipeshooter! I don’t know what happened to him but help me get him inta Medda’s!” she stated a hint of panic creeping into her usually resolute voice.
Snipeshooter moaned as Specs picked him up and made towards the entrance.
“Boots,” he gasped, “Where’s Boots?”
“I’ll go back an look for Boots, you get him inside,” she commanded rushing back to the alley and spotting Boots a little further back.
“Dammit!” she cursed, cradling the limp body of Boots in her arms and stumbling back towards the entrance.
The entire establishment was dead silent as Whiskey walked in, laying Boots down next to Snipeshooter on the stage. Medda had already retrieved two pillows and a some meager first aid supplies and was tending to Snipeshooter.
“Who da hell would do somethin’ like dat?” Itey asked voicing the question that went unasked by the majority of the newsies as he clutched Goosey tighter against his chest, her eyes red with the promise of tears and her dress wrinkled from Itey’s clutch. “Dey’s just kids.”
~**~
The leaders of Manhattan and Brooklyn were gathered round an old card table, playing a strained game of cards and waiting for word from the doctor that Snipes and Boots would recover.
“Damn! Are they ever gonna finish up in dere?!” Jack asked impatiently, throwing his cards down on the table.
“Calm down Jacky-boy, ain’t no reason ta getcha self all worked up ovah somethin’ you ain’t got no control ovah,” Spot stated evenly, his eyes two storms of emotions, traitors to his seemingly calm exterior.
On cue, the doctor came out of the bunkroom and walked down the stairs.
“Well, they’re all going to be alright, they’re just bruised up and need their sleep. I’ll allow one person up there to talk with them, after that let them rest, they need it,” he ordered, exiting the lodging house.
“I’ll be right back,” Jack stated solemnly. When he returned his usually expressive eyes were gloomy.
“Da Bronx did dis,” Jack said remorsefully. “Wese goin’ ta go see Snape, da ‘new’ leader of the Bronx, tomorra,” Jack stated vengefully.
“You sure dat’s a good idea Cowboy?” Luna asked. “Afta all, they didn’t have a problem beating defenseless newsies, what makes you think you’ll be any different ta dem?”
“But Ise da leader, ain’t no way he’d sacrifice his good name and have me soaked,” Jack replied confidently.
“Now hold on a second Jacky boy,” Spot stated. “Me Luna’s right. They’ve already proven dat dey don’t play by da same set a rules we do. What we need is an insider, someone ta get some information without puttin’ themselves inta too much unnecessary danga.”
Whiskey rose solemnly from her seat at the window, her skin had since been washed clean of any trace of Boots blood, but her only pair of pants was covered in it, and it would never come out.
“Ise got an old friend in da Bronx, if ya want me ta go see if I can get anything outta him,” she stated emotionlessly, her glance moving back and forth between Spot and Jack.
“Alright, but youse takin’ someone wit you,” Jack agreed reluctantly after several moments of tense silence. “Any volunteers?”
~**~
Whiskey and Specs walked towards the dilapidated wherehouse that served as the Bronx newsies lodging house, Specs looked a bit unnerved at the prospect of interacting with the gang who claimed to be the 'toughest newsies dis side o' Joisy,' and the single flickering lamp post and ghostly newspaper floating in the background just added to the impression.
"Come on Specsy, ain't nothin' ta be apprehensive 'bout. We ain't heah for tea 'n crumpets but we don' mean no harm," Whiskey said reassuringly as she punched him softly in the arm, eliciting a small chuckle from him.
"Yeah, youse right, I just got a bad feelin' 'bout dis," Specs replied the corner of his mouth turned down a bit in thought.
"Well, da sooner we meet me ol' friend Scotch da sooner we can get outta heah, so lets get to it." She walked towards the door shoulders squared, a determined look conquering the levity she'd shown just a moment before.
"Goin' somewheah?" a green-eyed girl asked smugly, a couple of her braids catching the light of the lamppost, their metallic ornaments shining dangerously. "Ya don' look like youse from around heah, so ya may not know how it works. Ain't nobody see Snape unless he wanna see dem," she stated informatively, a look of defiance in her eye. She stepped from the shadows near the doorframe and walked calmly towards Whiskey and Specs.
"Well we ain't heah ta see Snape," Whiskey countered moving menacingly towards the girl, Specs a step behind her. "Just heah ta say 'ello ta an ol' friend a mine, Scotch. Jus' tell him Mouse is heah."
"Well den, I'll do dat," she stated smugly, stepping inside and slamming the door shut behind her.
"Mouse?" Specs asked, a questioning look on his face.
Whiskey didn't even hear the question.
"Would ya believe da noive? I ain't traveled dis far ta be shut out now, she think a measly door's gonna keep me from enterin'? I'm doin' what I came heah foh," she half-growled, a frustrated tone to her voice right before she swung the door open.
She spotted the 'messenger' curled up in the lap of a tall boy with shaggy brown hair and intelligent, dangerous brown eyes. A look of shock and surprise contorted his chiseled features as she entered.
"Pity, says he don' know no Mouse," the green eyed girl stated with a smug smile as she stood from where she had been seated and started to walk towards Whiskey.
The tall boy grabbed her arm and pulled her back gently, taking her place and heading towards Whiskey and Specs.
"No Wintah, I do know a Mouse, but she’s dead," he stated in disbelief. "I was told dat you was dead."
His forehead scruched up and he put his tough face on, but his eyes misted up, regardless of how he tried to prevent it.
Whiskey closed the distance between them and swooped him up into a bear hug, her arms encompassing him, and his rising to do the same.
"I ain't dead, Scotch, else what would I be doin' heah?" she asked reassuringly. "I dunno who told ya dat, but dey was wrong. And it's Whiskey now, not Mouse. I decided ta carry on da tradition."
"Yeah, I always thought ya would," he responded with a smile, breaking the embrace and moving back a little.
"Who da hell told ya dat I was dead?" she asked in disbelief.
"Your brudda, he's been in da Bronx for a while now, workin' as a newsie..." Scotch started to say, but was cut off mid sentence by a stunned Whiskey.
"No. No he went out West, ain't no way he'd a been here dis whole time without even tryin' ta contact me," she stated quickly, her voice betraying her collected exterior by quavering a little as she backed further away from Scotch, a look of outrage and betrayal beginning to characterizing her features. "Ain't no way!" Whiskey stated a bit louder.
"It’s true Mouse, but I doubt it’s what ya think," he tried to explain.
"Ain’t what I think? It’s exactly what I think. Where is the bastard?! HUH?! Come on, ya yellow sonnava bitch! You too good for your own sistah now?!" She yelled up the stairs, her arms stretched outwards, gesticulation madly as she emphasized each point.
"He ain't dere Whiskey," Scotch said, his voice rising a bit to be heard over her rant.
Specs stepped up and put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her, but it only pushed her farther over the edge.
"Get the hell off a me!" she screamed rolling her shoulder back violently to remove the possessive hand, not even caring to whom it belonged.
"You tell that bastard that he's dead to me, dat dis is unforgivable. YOU HEAR DAT? YOU AS DEAD TA ME AS I AM TA YOU!" Whiskey screamed one last time before turning around and storming out of the lodging house.
Her exit was impeded however, by a girl with dark, slightly wavy hair who stepped into the lodging house, her hand still on the doorknob when Whiskey, blind with rage, collided with her. "I suggest you move," Whiskey stated coolly, her voice dripping with venom. The girl just stood there with an unimpressed look on her face.
"Or what?" she asked. "You gonna soak me or..." Her snide comment was interrupted when Whiskey's fist connected with the side of her face, knocking her out of the door jam and back out onto the street.
Whiskey started to hurry past the girl, but was halted when she felt a hand twist itself into the back of her hair and roughly yank her backwards. A cold voice whispered at the corner of her ear, "You wasn't gonna start nothin' you couldn't finish, was ya?"
"Wouldn't dream of it," Whiskey spoke through clenched teeth.
Specs ran towards the two fighting girls, but was restrained ten feet away by a burly Bronx newsie and a stocky girl who had been standing off to the sides the whole time.
"Whiskey!" he screamed futilely as he struggled against his captors.
"Hold tight Bittah, we got ourselves a fighta," the larger male stated sadistically, obviously enjoying watching his captive squirm as he twisted Specs' arm behind his back.
"Don' worry, Ember dere won' kill ya goil, she's just gonna make her wish she was dead," the girl who'd been identified as Bitter stated grimly with a cackle, her blond shoulder length hair bobbing up and down as she laughed. Specs grimaced but said nothing in response to the taunting.
The smaller girl, Ember, proved to be a better fighter than Whiskey had first anticipated, and a small group of Bronx newsies swarmed around them as the fight went on.
"Ember, don' hoit her! She ain't who you tink!" Scotch screamed over the roar of the newsies chanting and cheering Ember on.
Ember started off with a combination right hook and left jab that sent Whiskey's head spinning. ‘Damn dis goil packs a punch. She fights like me brudda use ta...’ Whiskey thought groggily as she quickly regained her wits about her and ducked another fist. After several minutes of furious street fighting, with neither gaining any real ground, Whiskey started to lag slightly behind.
‘Christ, if I don' do somethin' quick I'm gonna be lyin' on me back, poimanently’ she thought picking herself up from the ground to avoid being kicked. In desperation, she pulled out the only move her brother taught her, one that was worth her weight in gold.
She faked left and rolled quickly to the right, coming up directly behind Ember and delivering a roundhouse kick that knocked her opponent out cold. The move was fluid, cat like, and the majority of the onlookers didn't realize what happened until Ember was unconscious on the ground.
"And dat's da only good thing me brudda evah taught me," she declared, flipping her reddish brown hair back over shoulder as she retrieved her fallen cap. She then walked towards Specs, several newsies parting to let her pass. Hooking a finger around his vest she pulled him after her.
A red headed girl ran from the crowd and kneeled next to Ember.
"Ember, it’s Gambler, ya okay? Wake up ya ain’t nevah been beaten befoah,” Gambler stated concerned, tapping Embers cheeks lightly. Upon receiving no response she rose to her feet and screamed in Whiskey’s direction. “WATCH YOUR BACK GOIL! Snape'll find out about dis, I guarentee it! An he ain't gonna be happy when he does!"
After they were out of listening distance Whiskey moaned a little and rubbed her jaw and scratched up knuckles, breaking the silence between the two.
"Christ! Dat goil packed a punch!"
"Do ya think you can explain what da hell just happened back dere wit Scotch and Ember?!" Specs asked alarmed, a look of concern mixed with anger flashing across his face.
Whiskey just smiled pensively in response.
"Come on, I need a drink," she replied as they headed towards a small, dimly lit bar and restaurant they'd passed on the way to the lodging house.
~**~
"What can I do ya for?" a bar maid with long brown hair asked as she approached the Whiskey and Specs. Her bright blue eyes narrowed in concern and she squinted at Whiskey in disbelief. "Boy you got worked ovah!" she declared, glaring accusingly in Specs direction.
"Can ya just bring us a damp rag?" Specs asked impatiently as the waitress moved past him. Whiskey caught her sleeve as she walked by.
"An half a bottle of yer strongest whiskey," she asked, her voice gravelly, "Two glasses."
With that the waitress retrieved the items and brought them back.
"Name's Midnight if ya need anything else," she stated handing the cloth to Specs. He took the offered cloth from the waitress who scurried off to help the other patrons. He gently dabbed the drying blood off of Whiskey's face, trying to avoid the more swollen areas.
"Boy, I must look a sight, eh?" she asked with a weak chuckle as she opened the whiskey bottle and filled two shot glasses to the brim.
"It ain't dat bad," he said as he studied her face. "Ya got one helluva shiner ovah ya left eye, and a couple of bruised up scratches on yer neck, an a split lip, but all 'n all you came outta dat brawl in damn good shape. So you gonna explain anything about what da hell happened back there?" Specs asked as he took the offered shot and pounded it back, feeling the burn travel down his throat and sit warmly the middle of his chest.
"I don' really like ta talk about my past much," Whiskey replied, "But I feel as if I owe ya some sorta explanation. Ya see I grew up with Scotch back dere. His real name's Patrick, but in our little group everybody got named afta a type a liquor. It was a runnin' joke dat all we was just an extra source of money dat our ol' men'd use for booze, so we decided to 'become' dere favorite liquors.
I was the youngest a da group by about a year a so, and a goil out on da rough streets a Brooklyn no less, so a course everybody treated me different. Dey was real protective. Called me Mouse because I was kinda malnourished lookin' and small den. Wasn't my fault me fadda neva bothad ta feed me right? I got by on money I'd steal from him or pilfer from me pay. Anyways, one day me brudda and I gets home from da factory dat we was workin' in at da time and a course me Da's already dead drunk,” she paused, her lips pursed in a tight line as she remembered what happened next.
“He asked me ta go buy him some cigs before da store closed, so a course I did dat for him, I was tired but it was betta den gettin' beat. When I got back I saw me brudder in da corner of the room covered in blood, an he wasn’t movin’. I thought he was dead, I really did. I jumped on me barely concious Da and started pounding away, crying and screaming at him until I collapsed exhausted at his side. Turns out dat neitha one a dem died, but me Da was neva da same afta dat. Walks wit a limp dey say, I ain't neva been back dere ta see for myself,” Whiskey paused, swirling the remaining liquor around in the bottle and watching the little whirlpool spin around. She didn’t really want to continue, but felt obliged to Specs.
“You don’t have to go on if it hurts too much to remember,” Specs stated, his head tilted downward observing the contents of his glass intensely. He knew how much it hurt to remember sometimes, he hadn’t exactly had the most wonderful childhood either.
Whiskey didn’t answer, she just sighed and continued,
“Me brudda and I left dat night, neither a us had harldy any belongins so it wasn't like we was leavin' much behind. All Ise remember is dat he was a mess a bruises and cuts, and me face was all tear streaked and swollen from cryin'...I wasn't shore he'd make it, he was so pale...an I knew dat if he passed out or somethin' dere wasn't nothin' I coulda done ta help him, ya know? He was twice me size. I felt so vulnerble. He made it doh, I always thought dat was some kinda miracle because he was lookin' real bad da entire way. Eventually we walked straight across da Brooklyn Bridge, an' I ain't nevah looked back. From dere on we spent 'bout six months scroungin' by. Latah he decides ta head out West an send foh me when he found a job, cuz dere wasn't nobody hirin' in New Yawk. But he nevah did, he nevah bothered ta even give a damn enough ta send me woid of how he was doin', soon da rent money we'd saved ran out an I hadda find a job jus like everyone else. I figured dat he'd settled down on his own an didn't want anotha mouth ta feed. Haven’t gotten too friendly wit anyone ovah da years for fear dat dey’d leave me high and dry just like dat sonnova bitch. An now I find out dat he's been livin’ comfortably in da Bronx for god knows how long," Whiskey finished with a slight snarl, dividing the last of the booze between the two of them.
Specs simply smiled reassuringly and wiped away a single tear that made it's way past her anger and ran down her cheek. His hand gently cupped one side of her face.
"Now I must really look like shit," she said sarcastically.
"Nah, you still as beautiful as da day you walked inta da Lodgin' House," Specs replied as he leaned in and kissed her gently, being careful to avoid her shiner. The kiss lasted for several seconds before she gently broke it off.
"Ya know, it's gettin' pretty late," Whiskey stated.
"Yeah, I guess it is," Specs replied chagrined, a look of disappointment crossing his face as he thought that he must have done something wrong, something to blow any chances he'd have of getting her to be his girl.
"There's a little hotel next door," Whiskey suggested after a couple seconds of awkward silence. "We'd nevah make it back ta Manhatten tonight, an it ain't safe ta be out on da streets dis late at night..." she stated trailing off a bit as she rose to her feet and headed out the door, Specs right behind her.
~**~
"You wanna spend da night? Heah? Togetha? Den I guess I’ll sleep on da floor an you can have da bed, afta all youse the one dat’s hurt an all," he stated a bit confused as they entered the small room they'd paid for.
"Right now, dere's nothin' I'd like more, and dere ain’t no way youse sleepin’ on da floor," she replied as she threw her arms around his neck and slowly pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss, kicking the door shut behind them.
Specs slowly lowered them onto the bed, and Whiskey hissed as part of his weight leaned against her side, enflaming it again. "I tink I gots a cracked rib or somethin' because my entire side's on fire," she confessed. "Dat whiskey's done a pretty good job a numbin' it doh."
Specs rolled to the side of her, concern evident on his face.
"You okay? Da last thing I wanna do is somethin ta hoit ya or make ya uncomfortable.”
She smiled seductively and grabbed his shirt, pulling him back on top of her.
"I tink dat youse da only kinda healin' I need right now, so don’t try an weasel out a it," she joked with a husky giggle.
~**~
Sunlight filtered lazily through the half open curtains and cast a shadow upon the rumpled bed cover. The rays danced playfully across the chest of the young man who remained awake, yet unmoving, and hesitant to wake the woman sprawled across his chest and surrounded by his arm. He laid there content, thinking about all that had happened several hours ago. He smiled at the memory, he hadn’t been sure if Whiskey even liked him last night, but if the way her arm lied possessively sprawled across his chest was any indication he guessed that she felt the same way as he did.
He sat there observing her sleeping. She looked peaceful lying there, encircled by his arm; it was quite a stretch from the daily façade of toughness she put on for the rest of the world. Her wavy auburn hair was slightly disheveled, a few portions jutting out at odd angles, crumpled from last night’s escapades. The swelling had gone down over night Specs noticed as he smoothed the shoulder length hair away from her face.
The grimmer part of last evening flashed through his mind, dissipating his crooked smile. She’d be sore this morning. There was no more liquor in her system to numb the severity of last night’s beating. A wistful look came over his face as he brushed her auburn hair out of the way and gazed at the angry bruise that had formed on her left side. ‘She wasn’t kidding when she said she’d probly broke dat rib. It’s amazing she was up ta anyting other than a deep sleep last night...’ he thought as he gently stroked up and down her back, in an attempt to rouse her from sleep.
Whiskey woke to Specs nimble fingers coursing up and down her spine. “Dat tickles,” she said with a hoarse laugh, her voice still husky with sleep. She lay there a moment longer lost in sensation; he smelled good, a combination of soap and musk. She rolled over onto her side, cringing with pain as she moved.
“We gotta get goin’, Jack’ll be expectin’ us back soon. An if we don’t get back dere den everybody’ll be jumpin’ ta dere own conclusions about what happened between da two of us,” Specs said with a smile, breaking the silence between them.
Whiskey’s eyes finally fluttered open and she gazed into Specs stunning brown eyes.
“Let ‘em think what dey want,” she said playfully. “Not like we got any info we can bring back ta Jack an Spot anyways, dat whole meeting wit Scotch was just a waste a time.”
Whiskey propped her head up on one arm and let Specs roll out of bed to get dressed. “I do believe that’s your best side, not to mention feature,” Whiskey joked as she watched him make his way across the small room to retrieve the pants they’d hastily discarded last night.
“And da way youse posed right now’s accentin’ yours,” he replied, looking over his shoulder with a small smirk at her bare chest, while he pulled up his pants and went in search of his shirt.
"Shaddup ya smart ass..." she threatened, laughing as she threw a shirt on and smacked Specs upside the head while his back was turned.
"Dat's it, ain't nobody hit me while my back's toined an getta way wit it," he stated with a big grin as he playfully pushed her back on to the bed, a devious smile forming and a glint of mischief flashing across his eyes.
~**~
They arrived mid day and headed to Tibby’s, hoping to catch the newsies in the middle of lunch. As they opened the door all eyes turned towards them.
“Dere’s da two missin’ lovas, have fun last night?” Blink asked Specs as he walked through the door ahead of Whiskey.
“Specsy got laid!” Mush commented with a grin plastered across his face.
The levity and good natured joking ceased as the majority of the Manhattan, and the handful of Brooklyn newsies scattered around the diner laid eyes on Whiskey’s shiner and the enflamed scratches she had across her neck.
She walked in silence, her head held high with pride, towards the table where the leaders of the Manhattan and Brooklyn newsies were seated.
“I didn’t get any worthwhile news outta Scotch ‘bout why dey been soakin’ newsies lately,” she stated sitting down to the left of Luna, Specs standing right behind her with his hands resting softly on her shoulders, subconsciously projecting his claim to her to the rest of the room.
“Ise sorry ta hear dat,” Jack commented. “You okay? I see Specs dere ain’t got a scratch on ‘im,” Jack commented, jumping to conclusions.
“I’m a little curious meself as ta how da ‘invulnerable’ Whiskey got her pretty little ass soaked,” Spot commented with a small smirk. Whiskey had known Spot for several years when she’d lived in Brooklyn, so she let the taunt slide and didn’t bother to justify it with anything more than a cool glare. Besides, she’d taken her fair number of cheap shots at his expense so it was expected that he’d get back at her sooner or later.
Whiskey felt Specs squeeze her shoulder reassuringly in an attempt to get her to reveal what happened last night to the rest of the group, with certain parts omitted of course. She eased up a little and the aloof coldness that had characterized her features a moment ago faded. Race took this as his cue to lighten the mood by making a comic effort of examining her face from afar.
“Just like I thought, looks like ya tried to soak a particularly fiesty tree, I heah dat dose weeping willas can get a little territorial at times,” Race said, eliciting a small smile from Whiskey and a couple of strained chuckles from the rest of the newsies.
“Nah, I jus started some trouble on the way outta da Bronx an had ta defend myself. And dere wasn’t nothin Specs coulda done ta help. I got a couple a nasty bruises but nothin’ I ain’t had befoah,” she replied in Jack’s direction. “Now if you’ll excuse me Ise going back ta da lh,” Whiskey stated getting up and leaving Tibby’s.
Specs looked in her direction and decided to follow her, but first he was going to get something to bring back for them to eat. He knew she hadn’t eaten since last night so she was probably hungry, and just didn’t want to be surrounded by curious people. He ordered two roast beef sandwiches to go and when they came whispered in Autumn’s ear.
“Ya tink you could come back wit me? She’s got an angry lookin’ bruise on her left side an could probably use someone ta talk to, an I figyad since you and she’s pretty close ya might help her out?” Specs asked, a pleading puppy-dog look to his eyes.
“Sure I will,” Autumn replied, swooping down to kissing Jack on the cheek and tell him where she was going.
On the way back to the lodging house she couldn’t keep her curiosity to her any longer. “So, does dis bruise look pretty bad?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s on her left side right about heah, and I think she might a cracked a rib,” he replied, indicating with his free hand the area high up on his rib cage where the bruise was.
“An just how would you know what dis bruise looks like Specsy? Can ya see right thru her shirt or somethin’?” Autumn asked with a smirk.
Specs turned a bright red and stumbled over an answer.
“Well, ah, ya see, she described it ta me,” he stated unconvincingly.
“Dat still don’t account for you knowin’ dat it looks like she mighta cracked it,” she stated, enjoying the flustered look on Specs face.
She let him squirm a few moments longer before reassuring him. “Don’t worry, yer lil secret’s safe wit me,” she stated as they entered the lodging house and proceeded to the girls bunk room. Whiskey was sprawled out on the bottom bed of bunk with an arm thrown over her eyes to block out the sunlight filtering in through the half closed curtains.
“Autumn an I thought ya might be hungry, so we brought ya somethin’ ta eat,” Specs commented warmly as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Tanks, but I ain’t feelin’ too hot right now,” Whiskey replied as she sat up cautiously, her usually tan and rosy face pale and etched in pain.
“You ain’t lookin’ so hot eithah,” Autumn replied, leaning against the bunk frame. “Why don’ you lemme take a look at dat dere cracked rib a yours.”
Whiskey looked at Specs accusingly then untucked her shirt and rolled it up her side so Autumn could get a glimpse of it. Specs sat there a bit embarrassed as Autumn lightly touched the area, eliciting a hiss of pain from Whiskey.
“Yeah, dat’s definitely cracked. Why don’ you wrap it up, I’m shore Specs heah would be more den happy ta assist you,” Autumn stated with another small smirk. “So you wanna tell me what really ‘appened last night?” she asked seriously.
Whiskey sighed then retold the story, everything that happened with Scotch and Ember, and about how her brother abandoned her, while Specs sat by patiently. The only thing she left out was what happened that evening, as she was sure Autumn had come to her own conclusions about that.
“Ember? Boy did you choose da wrong goil ta mess wit, she’s Snape’s goil ya know,” Autumn stated informatively, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
“How da hell was I supposed ta know dat? She was givin’ me attitude so I soaked her,” Whiskey replied defensively. “I wasn’t exactly thinkin’ straight den.”
“Yeah, youse right. I’d just watch me back if I was you,” Autumn suggested on her way out of the bunk room, leaving Specs to take care of Whiskey.
~**~
“Flooding on Fourth Street, hundreds flee to higher ground!” Skittery yelled on the street corner, making a couple of pennies off of the headline. Whiskey walked by and ruffled his brown hair, just because she knew it annoyed him.
“Hundreds of what? Rats?” Whiskey asked over her shoulder, laughing as she walked past him to her own selling spot. Lately she had been selling with Specs, but she wanted to hawk the headlines on her own today, it gave her time to think.
“Mayor seen streaking through Central Park!” Whiskey yelled. Business was slow; she ended up watching the people pass her on the streets more than selling papes to them. ‘Maybe a change in location’ll get more results’ she thought as she walked a couple streets over. Out of the reflection of a shop window she spotted someone following her. She revised her path a little, going out of her way to make sure it was a deliberate, and not just a coincidental occurrence.
After twisting and turning through a couple extra blocks, and still realizing that there was someone behind her, she turned and walked towards the person. “Is der somethin’ I can do for ya or are ya content ta follow me around all aftanoon?” she asked sizing the lurker up. It was a boy with brown curly hair, he was bigger than she and would have the advantage in a fight, but she could be a quick runner if push came to shove. His face was hidden by a cap which was pulled down low, so she couldn’t see his features all that well, but an overwhelming feeling of familiarity washed over her.
“I’d just like ta buy a pape,” he replied extending a nickel in her direction.
“Bullshit! We passed three otha newsies on day way ovah here. ‘Sides I ain’t got change for a nickel,” she lied crossing her arms over her chest and wondering what the boy would do next.
He sighed and removed his cap to reveal piercing, crystal-clear green eyes, the same eyes that she had. “Schnapps?” she asked incredulously, stunned that her brother had the guts to even confront her. She scoffed, pointing her finger in his direction. “You said you’d nevah forget your lil mouse, you promised! An den ya went an left me ta fend for myself?”
“Ise sorry Mouse, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I got back ‘bout two years ago. I looked for ya in da red light houses, the orpahnage and da refuge but couldn’t find ya. And none of da newsies I ran inta had heard about da Mouse I was lookin’ for. Dey usually da ones who know every street rat in town,” Schnapps replied.
Whiskey’s expression remained a mixture of relief and anger.
“Why have you an Snape been soakin’ Manhattan newsies left an right? Ain’t ya got enough sellin’ space to suit yer egos ovah in da Bronx?” she asked sarcastically. “Why ya been hurtin’ my friends, correction, my family?” she asked looking in his direction confused and hurt.
“Snape has been doin’ it because he thinks dat the Bronx don’t get no respect, or any of the premium sellin’ spots. An I’m doin’ it because dere ain’t nothin’ bettah ta do. Until now I thought all my family was dead, the only good thing I had going for me until now was Ember,” Schnapps replied.
“But I thought Ember was...,” she thought piecing it together. “Youse da leada of da Bronx.”
“Yeah, I became a newsie afta I realized dat dere weren’t any work out West, moved my way up in da ranks, ain’t nothin’ special.”
“Well do ya think Schnapps could quit soaking me friends now dat he’s got family a his own again?” Whiskey asked seriously, looking him straight in the eye, green on green, neither breaking the heartfelt stare.
“Yeah, I think I can work dat out. Snape ain’t angry at the world no more, not now dat he knows his only sista’s alive an doin’ good for herself,” he stated nostalgically.
“So, how’s Ember doin’ by da way?” she asked, subconsciously raising a hand to the fading scratches on her neck.
“She’s alright, although she did have a nasty bump on the back of her head and was a little forgetful for a couple a days. I thought I told ya nevah ta use dat move unless ya had ta!” Schnapps stated scoldingly.
“Well, she was bettah den I expected, an I just wanted to end the damn match,” she replied defensively. “She fought too much like you, da only poison I couldn’t whip. I was afraid she’d block dat kick an I’d be back ta gettin’ my ass kicked again. You teach her?”
“Everything but da Rourke Special,” he replied with a grin.
Whiskey smiled in return then looked at the papes in her arm.
“Well, I got papes ta sell. An you oughta be gettin back ta da Bronx,” Whiskey stated, looking at the ground, suddenly finding the scuffs on her shoes extremely interesting. “It was good seein’ you again Schnapps.”
“What ‘appened ta my lil Mouse?” he asked, his eyes misting up. “My sensitive, consoined lil Mouse?”
“You killed Mouse, a long time ago. Name’s Whiskey now, if dat name ain’t enough of an indication a how I been doin’ on my own, den I don’t know what else ta tell ya,” she replied bluntly, shoving her hands deeply in her pockets, her eyes dry.
“You’ll always be Mouse ta me, even if ya keep up the tough, untouchable act around me,” he replied breaking an awkward pause by closing the distance between them and pulling her into a soft hug. “I ain’t letting Mouse die dis time, you needs her.”
Whiskey struggled to keep from crying she didn’t want to feel again, it was too painful, too much of a burden. Regardless of how she tried, the comfortable numbness she’d slipped into over the years flaked away, leaving the same vulnerable girl she’d been when she first arrived at the lodging house. Hot tears flowed freely for the first time in years as she washed away all the pain and loneliness she’d endured since he’d left her four years ago. She was finally safe, safe in the embrace of her brother, as safe as she felt surrounded by Specs strong arms.
“Just ‘member, Mouse always has a special place ta stay in my heart...if you don’t want her no more.”
And at that point, Whiskey knew she’d forgiven her brother.
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