A short Italian girl shouted out headlines at the top of her lungs. "EXTRA, EXTRA! Hundreds of rare coins stolen! Mayor involved in theft! Thank yah, sir...much obliged tah you, maim...."
She pushed her faded cap up further on her head, covering her boyish cut of dark hair. She opened her mouth to shout out another headline, when her eyes fell upon a familiar female figure. Grinning, she walked up to the girl and let out a loud, "Heya McAllen!"
Flash McAllen jumped at the sound of such a loud voice coming from such a short, fragile looking girl. Still, she responded with a smile of her own and a much quieter, "Hey Liberty...how's it rollin’?"
The Italian rolled her eyes, which were so dark and sparkled so brightly that it looked as if you'd melted the midnight stars and repoured them in her eyes. "Wat can I say; it's rollin’...how's the sellin’? Why ain't you wit’ Blue Skies?"
“I don’t always gotta be sellin’ wit’ Blue Skies, do I?” Flash responded with a smile. “Ac’shully she jus’ kinda ran off wit’ that boyfriend a’ hers for lunch a couple a’ minutes ago…”
"Lunchtime!" the first girl shouted, approaching Flash and suddenly throwing her papers to the ground at Flash’s feet.
"Wha-ha?" Flash jumped at the banging. "Thanks, thanks Andriola...thanks a bunch...fer scarin' me half tah death..."
"Anytime," Liberty responded.
“So, what d'yah mean 'lunchtime', yah wanna eat now?”
“Ain’t ‘chu hungry?” Liberty marveled.
“Well, sure I’se hungry…yah mean we's gonna filch somethin'?"
"I prefer the term 'permanently borrow'," Liberty responded offhandedly, her midnight blue eyes scanning the premise for food.
"All right, so...what're we gonna 'permanently borrow'?" Flash asked.
Liberty continued as if she hadn't heard Flash. "Although I s'pose we could give it back if they really wan'ed...but I don't think they do..."
"No, they don't," Flash agreed. "So who're we gonna borrow from?"
"Mmm..." Liberty picked up her newspapers from the ground and tucked them under her right arm. “That guy ovah there?” She pointed toward a rather crowded area of the street along which sat several vendors’ carts.
“Sure,” Flash said, tucking her own newspapers under her arm and starting to saunter carelessly along the street, followed at just the least attention-drawing distance possible by Liberty.
If there was one thing life on the streets taught a kid, it was how not to draw attention to themselves.
"So, mistah," Flash heard Liberty say quietly behind her. Flash pretended to be glancing through a separate cart. "My mothah sent me down heah to pick up a nice fish fah dinnah...she said she wanted the best mackerel you got."
The fish vendor, judging from his own accent of clipped words, was of obvious German decent and eager to please. He was selling fruit too, apparently, because a small box of it stood next to the fish cart.
"Yes, miss...we have very nice mackerel this afternoon."
Then he made the mistake of turning his back to Liberty to get it from the makeshift shelf behind him. In an instant, Liberty brushed up against the small crate of fruit. Her hand flashed out, taking a firm grip on an apple and sliding it behind her newspapers. The man turned back around, holding a rather large, rather disgusting fish.
"You know..." Liberty quipped, looking the fish over, "I don't think she wanted a mackerel after all." The man looked rather annoyed, and opened his mouth to send Liberty away when Flash stepped up. "Sir..." she interrupted, trying to look as presentable as possible. "I've been waiting in line for several moments...could you help me while she," Flash gestured to Liberty with obvious distaste, "makes up her mind?"
The man gave Flash a smile, revealing two rotten teeth. "Why of course, what will you have today, miss?"
"I need a large halibut, if you please..." it was rather hard to drop the Harlem street accent of a newsgirl, but Flash managed convincingly enough because the man nodded and turned around to search his makeshift shelf again. In a moment, an orange was shoved up Flash's sleeve.
Liberty, pretending to lose interest now that she had been put on hold, turned on her heel and stormed off from the fish-vendor. Once she rounded the corner, she paused for a moment on the sidewalk, waiting. She could hear Flash's voice around the other side.
"I said large," Flash said in an empathic voice. "Is that the largest you have?"
"Why, miss, I assure you this is the largest halibut you will find today..."
"I'm sorry then, it's simply not large enough."
There was silence, and then Flash rounded the corner, grinning a sly grin. She slipped the orange from her sleeve, as Liberty brought forth her apple from behind her newspapers. The two girls walked a few more feet before they sat down on the edge of the curb.
"And now, my accomplice, we feast..." said Liberty, taking a rather large bite out of the side of her apple. Flash chuckled and worked at peeling away the outer layer of her orange.
"W-oo wo-ah," said Liberty, bits of apple flying from her mouth. She shook her head, swallowed, and repeated. "You know, that seems to get easier everyday...yah was real good wit’ the hoity-toity accent there, McAllen. Sounded like...lowah middle class even!" Liberty laughed a deep laugh, uncharacteristic to be coming from such a small girl, and took another vicious bite of her apple.
Then again, there were a lot of characteristics Liberty had acquired that were...uncharacteristic.
"Yeah, you weren't so bad yahself, Miss Andriola," Flash said, holding the orange peel up triumphantly as she split the soft center into pieces.
"Why thank you...." said Liberty in response. "For my next act, I shall - "
A booming voice interrupted the beginning of Liberty's curbside performance.
"Stop, thieves!"
Both newsgirls glanced up at the policeman that had just rounded the corner. He was pointing straight at them.
"Oh great...remind me what fan-ta-st'ick actors we are again," Flash grumbled, shoving herself up from the curb, orange still clutched tightly in her hand and newspapers still tucked tightly under her arm.
"Well some audiences are j'est harder to please than othahs," said Liberty, leaping up from her own position. "Let's cheese it!"
And with that, the two took off down the street with the policeman close behind, bellowing, "Someone stop those two!"
“Jesus,” Flash muttered, looking behind her after a few minutes of hard running to see that the policeman was still tailing them. “It’s jus’ a piece a’ fruit, fer God’s sake…” She tossed the orange aside to avoid its encumbrance and looked to Liberty. “If yah ain’t gonna eat that while yah runnin’, I’d get rid a’ it…”
“Hey, I woiked hard fer this,” Liberty replied.
“This is all very well an’ good fer you, Lady Liberty…you’se a runnah. I’se jus’ a…a…” Flash gave up on finding words and continued her dashing. Liberty took the lead, turning down sidestreets. “What’s the deal?” Flash muttered, still hearing the staccato of police boots following them, although the distance seemed to be increasing.
“Stop them!” the cop hollered. Suddenly there was a new man chasing them, one who appeared to be significantly more in shape than the policeman.
“It’s a stupid apple!” Flash hollered, panting slightly. “One dumb apple!”
“An’ an orange…” Liberty added quietly.
“Orange, apple, whatevah…there’s no call for this…” Flash replied. “Damnit Andriola, ain’t ‘chu tired yet?”
“A liddle,” Liberty answered offhandedly, finally dropping the apple from her hand. “All right, we’se startin’ tah run outtah choices heah.”
“Stop, girls, if you know what’s good for you!” The man who the police had summoned was gaining speed, and this infallibly seemed to be simultaneous with the girls’ tiring.
“Hey, there’s a lotta things I can do,” Flash breathed, “But stoppin’ ain’t one a’ ‘em…”
“Is jumpin’?” Liberty answered.
“Jumpin’ wheah?” Flash retorted.
“Off things…”
“Off what kind a’ things?” Flash finally threw her newspapers to the ground with an exasperated sigh. “Andriola, what on earth is you tryin’ tah get at?”
“Ah, like…bridges?” Liberty responded innocently.
“Bridges?” Flash replied incredulously. “Bridges?”
“Yeah, bridges. Like, ah…this one,” Liberty answered suddenly jerking to a stop.
“Wait, wait now—” Flash protested.
Liberty grabbed her by the wrist. “Don’t talk. Jus’ jump.”
“Oh for the love of God…” Flash murmured as Liberty clambered onto the railing, pulling Flash up after her. “When we die—”
“Ah…yah can swim, right McAllen?” Liberty asked. Flash looked over her shoulder. The policeman had caught up with the other man and they would reach them any second.
“A fine time tah be askin’ questions like that,” Flash muttered. “But yeah, you’se in luck this evenin’, m’lady, ‘cause I can.”
“Good,” Liberty said. And they jumped.
“What the—” Blue Skies pulled the door to the lodging house open and stared at the two drenched newsgirls standing before her. “When’d it start rainin’?” she asked, looking past them at the sun which was just starting to think about setting in a clear sky.
“Shaddup,” Flash growled, wiping her feet on the mat and then untying her shoes. “Jus’ don’t ask, all right?”
“I won’t ask you, that’s fer sure…” Blue Skies muttered in response. She turned on her heel and fixed her blue eyes on Liberty. “Andriola, what the hell happened tah the two a’ you’se?”
“Ah, we had a liddle run-in wit’ a rather large body a’ watah…”
“An’ the largest mackerel you’se evah seen…” Flash added with a melancholy tone to her voice, squeezing some of the water from her brown hair. Liberty started giggling despite herself. “I hope you’se got lots a’ towels.”
“Well don’t jus’ stand there, fer God’s sake…put on some diff’rent clothes or somethin’,” Blue Skies exclaimed. “Heah, c’mon, we’ll head up tah the bunkroom.”
Liberty looked at Flash. “Is there mackerel in the Harlem Rivah?”
“If there is, I think we’s lucky they didn’t eat us…what do mackerel eat, anyway?”
“Hopefully newspaper…” Liberty responded with a smile. Flash, feeling rather like the proverbial drowned rat, preferred not to reply.
"You know," began Liberty about half an hour later, "it's times like 'dese I'se glad I hacked all my hair off." She was sitting on the edge of her bunk, running her fingers through her boyish-crop of now dry hair, watching Flash sling her still damp head up from towel-drying her own.
"Yeah well I didn't know I was gonna be hurlin' myself off some bridge intah the Harlem Rivah or else I would'a taken a trip tah the barbers..." Flash replied in a sarcastic tone, tossing the towel casually over the edge of her bunk.
"You still bittah about 'dat, aren't you?"
"I should be. I'm still wet, ain't I?"
"Good point," Liberty sighed, falling back melodramatically onto her bunk. "You know, I use'tah have real real long hair."
"Really?" Flash asked, tucking her knees up to her chest.
"Yep," her friend replied. "Down tah my waist. Thick as anything...."
"Why'd yah cut it?"
The Italian girl shrugged in her laying down position. "It got caught on a nail as I was runnin' away from the bulls one day. Can't afford 'dat when you's a runnah. So I hacked it short. Nicky almost killed me..." Liberty laughed, her eyes fading. "He always make me promise to keep it long like Mama used tah wear hers...but then again, he broke lots'a promises so why shouldn't I have..."
Flash watched her friend’s playful expression go dark. Liberty's past was not the most wonderful thing she wished to discuss about herself, but every once and a while she'd slip into a memory or two. Silence settled over the room for the next few moments. Then it was shattered by Flash's heavy Harlem accent.
"I still can't believe it...."
"Believe what?" Liberty shoved herself up on her elbows.
"We were chased all the way across Harlem fah a piece a fruit..."
"Two pieces," Liberty reminded her, plopping back down. She had a bad habit of not being able to sit still—or lay still for that matter. "But yeah, I know wat you'se mean...it's wei'ahd. Really—a cop chasin two street girls 'dat he knows can out run him, down at least—wat would'you say—eight blocks?"
Flash nodded, shoving a wet strand of hair out of her eyes, "At least eight."
"Oh well," said Liberty, dismissing it. "No one evah said da bulls should make sense."
Chuckling, Flash replied, "ain't dat 'da truth...so an entire day’s papes wasted; I ain't got money fah no more. Wat are we gonna do wit the rest 'a our day?"
Before she could finish the question, Liberty was up, digging under her bunk. She emerged triumphantly with a faded deck of cards—"Blackjack?"
Shrugging, Flash dropped off her bunk and onto the floor next to Liberty. "Shoah...ain't like I got anywheah to go."
“Buy me last pape, mistah?” Blue Skies muttered to no one in particular, spinning around. “Papes, papes…everywheah papes…” she rolled her eyes and looked from left to right. “Everywheah papes an’ no people!”
“Hey, calm down, Maria.”
Blue Skies swirled, turning to face the person who had used the offending name. “What d’yah have tah say…Charlie?”
“I can call yah Maria if I wanna,” Chance replied.
“An’ that entitles me tah call yah Charlie if I wanna.”
“Fine, fine, fine…Blue Skies it is.”
“Thank you…Charlie.”
“Hey now…” Chance grinned and grabbed Blue Skies’ cap. He twirled it on his finger as he spoke to her, holding it above her head. “I saw a couple a’ yah goils walkin’ down the street lookin’ like they’d jus’ lost a battle wit’ the Atlantic Ocean…what’ve yah been doin’ wit’ yah goils, eh?”
“I don’t know anythin’ about it,” Blue Skies retorted, grabbing for her hat. “Give that back, you jerk.”
“Not if yah call me a jerk, I won’t.”
“Yah bettah, ya idiot…”
“Now I definitely ain’t gonna give it back.”
“Yah gotta!” Blue Skies exclaimed, jumping up against her brother and tackling him. She yanked her hat from his hand with a victorious grin. “Thank yah, sir.”
“Much obliged…geez, yah heavy…” Chance muttered, getting to his feet.
“I ain’t,” Blue Skies replied smugly, settling her hat over her thick braid of black hair once more. “So there.”
“Well I’ll let ‘cha get back tah sellin’ the evah-excitin’ aftah’noon edition, Blue Skies…”
“Yeah, thanks, Chancey-boy…”
After Chance walked away, she noticed that he was empty-handed. Hey, why ain’t he sellin’ this aftah’noon? she wondered briefly. Ah, it’s his choice…whatevah…
When Blue Skies returned to the lodging house, she found Flash draped over the side of her bunk looking rather uncomfortable. “Hey McAllen, you’se all red.”
“Thanks, Costello, I hadn’t noticed,” Flash replied, sitting up. “I needed tah heah that.”
“Really, that’s good,” Blue Skies answered with a shrug. “Wheah’d Andriola—”
“Right heah,” Liberty responded, entering the room once more. “Hey McAllen, yah hair dry yet?”
“Ac’shully, it is,” Flash answered with a smug smile, running a hand through her rather tangled brown hair. “Glad yah asked.”
“Yeah, so…ah…what happened wit’ ‘chu? Half a’ Harlem’s talkin’ ‘bout how I’se lettin’ my goils pick fights wit’ oceans an’ such.”
“Your goils?” Flash admonished.
“They must not a’ recognized yah soppin’ wet, missy,” Blue Skies answered, rolling her eyes.
“Well, it’s their loss,” Flash responded, tucking her hair behind her ears. She hated to wear it down.
“You’se changin’ the subject again,” Blue Skies prompted.
“Well, we was jus’ tryin’ out ouah actin’ skills this aftah’noon, an’ all a’ a sudden we found that no one was much impressed,” Flash stated.
“Excuse me?” Blue Skies sat down on her bunk, glancing skeptically at Flash. “So they threw yah in the rivah ‘cause they didn’t like yah actin’?”
“Well, yah could say that,” Flash answered cryptically.
“Ac’shully we threw ouah’selves in the rivah…but othah than that you’se pretty close tah right,” Liberty added with a smile.
Blue cocked a skeptical eyebrow at the short Italian. Liberty looked to Flash, and Flash just shrugged. So she explained.
“We’se was ahhh...perm’an’nant’ly borrowin’ a couple a’ pieces a fruit. And da damn bulls chased us half-cross Harlem! Fah one stinkin apple...”
“And— ”
“An orange, I know, I know,” said Liberty, cutting her friend off. “It was wei’ard...really...” No matter how hard she tried, her thick Manhattan accent always showed through the blend of Brooklyn and Harlem she’d acquired throughout her years.
“So you’se got caught fah pilferin’ some fruit annnnd…?” Blue gestured for her to go on.
“Annnd the only way we’se was gonna stay outtah the refuge was tah jump off that bridge ovah the riv’ah...”
“We were at a dead end,” Flash added from her bunk.
Blue sat back and processed this information for a moment, tossing her thick, dark braid of hair over one shoulder and then the next.
“First off, McAllen, what were yah doin’ stealin’ fruit?”
“Now Blue, be reasonable…”
“I jus’ wanna know. Didn’t ‘cha have no money, or was it jus’ fer kicks?”
Flash fidgeted momentarily. “I dunno…I mean…sure, we had money…but not a lot…not like, jus’ tah throw ‘round…yah know?”
“An’ we were, like, blocks an’ blocks from every restaurant in Harlem…an’ starvin’,” Liberty added with a nod.
“Starvin’,” Blue Skies repeated with a note of skepticism.
“Aw, get off it, Costello, geez, jus’ one lousy—a couple lousy pieces a’ fruit…”
“That ain’t the point.”
“What’s the mattah wit’ yah?” Flash asked, her brown eyes flicking about the room. “You’se got…self-proclaimed, pickpocket-addicted goils runnin’ ‘round heah, an’ you’se tellin’ off Libs an’ I fer one—”
“—two—”
“—two pieces a’ fruit from some Goiman guy who was sellin’ ugly old fish?”
Blue Skies shrugged. “Look, it’s jus’—” she paused. “Nevah mind. Jus’ don’t get caught. Hell, I don’t care if yah take tah murderin’ an’ pillagin’, long’s yah don’t come cryin’ tah me when yah get yah’self stuck in jail someplace.”
“That’s not the Blue Skies I grew up wit’,” Flash muttered. “Maybe yah need tah sleep.”
Blue Skies didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then finally she just shrugged again. “Suit yah’self,” she answered. “Jus’ suit yah’self.”
Fingers was hawking her headlines with the usual vigor. "NUDE CORPSE DISCOVERED IN GOV'NAHS BASEMENT!" It's amazing, she thought to herself, how a couple of dead spiders during winter cleaning can sell papers.
She was opening her mouth to yell out another headline when she felt an odd sensation overcome her. Fingers had been a pickpocket longer than anyone at Harlem; she knew all the tricks of the trade. And she knew when her pocket was being picked.
"Hold it right 'dere," she growled in a low voice, suddenly plunging her hand into her own pocket. It met another frantic hand; just what she'd expected. She raised her gaze into the thickly lashed, brown eyes of the culprit. He stood there, staring back for an instant before he jerked her hand away from her. And then he took off down the street.
"Hey - HEY!" Fingers yelled after him. What the...that's it. No one gets away with pickin’ Fingers Mulcahy's pocket—no way, no how. And so she heaved her papers tightly against her chest and broke into a sprint after him.
"Those cigarettes are gonna kill you," Flash muttered as Liberty sat on the curb, flicking ash off her glowing cylinder.
"Probably," she replied, standing up and hoisting her stack of newspapers up on her shoulder. She turned around, shoving her cigarette between her lips, only to have it knocked out.
"Hey—watch wheah yah goin..." she grumbled, flying backwards a few feet.
"Sorrah, sorrah," murmured the boy that had suddenly smacked right into her. He had a decidedly British accent. A decidedly charming British accent.
"Heah," he said, bending down and picking up her cigarette.
"Yeah, thanks," Liberty said with narrowed eyes as she plucked it quickly from his fingers.
Flash took in the short exchange with interest—at least, until she heard a familiar voice calling down the street after her.
"Stop—him...!"
Liberty and Flash whirled around as if they were controlled by the same piece of string, to find Fingers at the end of the street, shouting towards them.
"Ohhhhh bloody hell," the boy muttered, as he rolled his eyes and broke into an all out run down the street. Flash and Liberty stood there for a few seconds until Fingers reached them, panting.
"He picked...my pocket..." she panted, then added a few curses under her breath. "I've been chasing him for blocks—blocks—criminey..."
"He picked your pocket?" Flash replied in an awed tone.
"Yeah," Fingers glared. "And I don't wanna hear anuddah woyd about it. I'm outtah breath...I can't run anymore...and he got away wit' at least a quartah!"
A grin spread across Liberty's face. She thrust her papers into Flash's hands.
"Yeah well he ain't gonna get away fah long," she smirked, bending her knees to pop them. And before either Flash or Fingers could respond, Liberty flew off down the street after the boy, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.
"You wanna follow her?" Flash asked.
Fingers shrugged—"Why not? This could get interestin’."
“Interestin’s hardly the beginnin’ wit’ Libs…” Flash murmured, stacking Liberty’s papers neatly on top of her own. “An’ we’ll nevah catch up tah ‘er.”
“But we can get close,” Fingers reasoned.
“True, true.” Flash nodded, tucking the short stack of newspapers underneath her arm. “I’ll follow you.”
And they took off down the street in the direction that first the British boy and then their Italian friend had dashed.
“Flash, Flash, Flash…” Blue Skies chided, opening the window of the bunkroom and looking down into the street. “Her turn tah pick up stragglers an’ she’s one ‘erself…”
“She’s prob’ly busy,” Ruby asserted from her bunk.
“Maybe she’s got a date,” Sketch added from Blue’s elbow, peering likewise down into the city.
“Flash don’t do dates,” Blue Skies answered. “She’s as sweet on O’Leary as he’s infatuated wit’ ‘er, but that don’t mean she’d dare admit it.”
“She don’t like boys,” Ruby interjected. “Well—she likes boys but not like…likes boys.”
“That’s jus’ it, Gallagher. Jus’ it. An’ it’s her turn tah pick up stragglers an’ she’s stragglin’.”
“Well is anyone else?” Sketch questioned, looking up at her black-haired leader.
“Is anyone else—?” Blue Skies paused. “Oh, is anyone else stragglin’, yah mean?”
Sketch nodded.
“Well…jus’ Mulcahy, Andriola an’ good ol’ Flash McAllen,” Blue Skies answered after ticking off her fingers. “I think that’s it.”
“Well…they can take care a’ themselves, right?”
“An’,” Blue Skies continued as if Sketch hadn’t spoken, “Libs an’ Flash is prob’ly ta’gethah.”
“An’ I bet Fingah’s is wit’ ‘em, right Blue?” Sketch added with a quick nod of her head.
Blue Skies shrugged. “I dunno…sure, maybe.” She sighed and looked around the room. “Well, Gallagher, how ‘bout yah hold down the fort while I go look for the dawdlin’ ones.”
“Yah know, Blue, I think that they can take care a’ themselves.”
“So does Flash; that’s why I gotta go look for ‘er.”
"I do not believe this..."
Flash had sold out of most of her papers and was left with Liberty's stack. She plopped down on an overturned fruit crate, next to Fingers. The two were sitting in an alleyway.
Darkness had fallen over the city hours ago; about the time they'd caught their last sight of Liberty.
"What, that we're lost?"
"No—we're not lost. I know Harlem like the back of my hand," Flash replied.
"Well news flash, McAllen...we ain't in Harlem anymore."
Flash sighed and leaned back against the wall. It was true; she glanced at the street sign that framed the end of the alley, its attached lamppost providing the only seeing light for blocks. It read, in bold but faded letters, "South Bruckner". This meant they were well into the Bronx, which wouldn't have been such a bad thing except it was night. And South Bronx was not the most friendly place to be at night, even if they were on good terms with most of its inhabitants. Besides, Manhattan may be laid out easy with its simple squares of streets, and at least Flash and Fingers knew their way around Harlem...but the Bronx had just been thrown together chaotically. It was a mismatch of dead ends and dark alleyways. Like the one the two Harlem newsgirls were sitting in.
"Blue's gonna throw a fit," Flash mumbled, tilting herself forward with her head in her hands.
"Blue always throws a fit," Fingers rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, but now she's got a right to," Flash noted.
"Dis is true..."
Fingers’ words echoed off the alley walls, sounding much louder than the two girls were comfortable with in the dark and quiet.
Suddenly, a trashcan banged against the ground. Flash jumped up from her seat; Fingers came to direct attention in her standing position. They breathed a sigh of relief when they saw it was just an old garbage can cat, seeking refuge in the trash.
"Whew..." Flash leaned back up against the wall, her hand clutching her chest.
"You ladies lost?" boomed a voice.
"Ahhhh!" Flash shouted again, frightening Fingers more then the voice.
"Ahhhh!" Fingers screamed back.
"Ahhhh!" Flash said again.
"Hey, hey, hey—sorry, sorry—I didn't mean to scare you..."
Both girls turned towards the voice. It belonged to a sturdy-looking boy about their age. Even in the flickering lamplight they could see a faded cap trying to conceal bright red hair.
"Souther..." Flash breathed quietly.
"Who?" Fingers asked in a sharp tone, still a little upset about screaming like a...well…a girl.
"Culligan—boy, am I glad to see you," Flash ignored Fingers’ question and broke out in a weak smile at the boy. Souther Culligan was second in command of the South Bronx boys; he was an ally to Harlem. Blue Skies and Flash knew him well enough.
"Well nice tah hear dat," he grinned. "You girls lost?"
"Naaaawww," replied Fingers sarcastically. "Just takin' a midnight stroll t'rough New Yawk..."
"Oh," said Souther, not really sure how to respond to Fingers’ tone. So he turned back to Flash. "You want an armed escort back? It's...not the safest t'ing for two ladies such as yaself tah be wonderin' round past dark in the rougher neighborhoods..."
"Hey, we are the rougher neighborhood," Fingers protested.
"This isn't Harlem," Souther reminded her. That silenced her for the next several minutes. "So," he added to Flash, gesturing down the alley, "shall we?"
"We shall," she replied. "You first."
He was about to protest, but the look he got from Fingers said, "don't give me any of the southern gentleman stuff," so he went ahead and waited at the opening of the alley.
"What about Liberty?" Fingers muttered as Flash tugged her towards the lit end of the alley.
"She's got friends in the Bronx—lots of 'em. Tough, sturdy, knife-carrying friends. We don't. She'll be fine..."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure...now let's just go home befah they's carryin' out Blue Skies on a stretcher."
“McAllen,” Blue Skies muttered, sitting on the steps of the Harlem newsgirls lodging house. “If yah ain’t dead when yah get back heah, I’se gonna kill yah…”
“That would defeat the purpose,” Gypsy responded, sitting beside Blue Skies on the steps.
“What purpose? Teachin’ her not tah do this no more?”
“Noo…if yah killed ‘er, then—”
“—that ain’t the point…nevah mind…I didn’t mean it anyway…” Blue Skies muttered, running her hand along the railing above her head absently. “Yah’ll notice, Gardner, that I ain’t lookin’ for any of ‘em. It’s Flash’s turn tah pick up the stragglers an’ it’s her problem if they don’t get picked up.”
“But if she’s a straggler herself…”
Blue Skies sighed. “Nevah mind…” she said again. “I know it don’t make no sense…”
The two sat in silence for a while.
“Costello’s gonna kill me…” Flash murmured as she followed Souther along the foreign streets. “I bet she knows the Bronx like the back a’ her hand, an’ she’ll think I shoulda spent more time wit’ ‘er committin’ it tah mem’ry…’stead a’ runnin’ off an’ stealin’ fruit an’ jumpin’ off bridges…”
“Jumpin’ off bridges, you say?” Fingers smiled. “An’ why ‘zactly were yah doin’ that?”
“’Cause Libs an’ I sorta permanently borrowed some…ah…fruit…”
“An’ what does that have tah do wit’ jumpin’ off a bridge?”
“Well, we were runnin’, yah see, an’ then we were bein’ chased for—for blocks really—an’ so it was the rivah or the refuge.”
“So you’re the drowned rat Chance was babblin’ ‘bout?” Souther grinned at the Harlem girl. “McAllen, I’d a’ thought that b’tween you an’ Andriola, there’d a’ been some chance a’ findin’ a bettah solution.”
“She’s the runnah, not me. She was like…not even tired an’ I was gonna die.”
"I can keep this up all night," Liberty called down the street.
"Christ," she heard the boy pant as he rounded the corner. When she rounded it herself a few moments later, she was slightly surprised to see him collapsed in the inlet created by two front doors of a factory. She stopped abruptly, almost ramming into a street light.
"Here," he gasped from his spot on the ground as he tossed her a quarter. She watched the silver sparkle as it flew through the moonlight before catching it in her hand.
"We're even," he finished, leaning his head back against the doorway.
Alright, Liberty thought to herself. He wasn't supposed to stop...and now that I've caught him...what do I do with him?
"You ahhh...don't look so hot," she said aloud, directing her words downward toward his panting figure.
"Yeah well...I wish I could say the same for you but I can't. You don't even look winded," he said, forcing himself to sit up and breathe slower.
"I'm a runner," she said. "I wouldn't have been winded for another ten blocks or so," she added with a wink. He broke out in a small smile himself.
"I'll remember that. Tell me your name so I can watch out for you in the future." His words flowed smoothly, almost a purr from his throat as his accent bled through with the New York he was picking up.
Liberty shook her head—"You think I'm gonna tell me name to some random pick-pocket who, I might add, I must have chased at least thirty-two city blocks to get back a lousy quarter?"
"You think," he said, mocking her own strange accent of various New York boroughs, "I'm gonna tell my name to some random street girl selling newspapers? You could be a murderess for all I know."
"Yeah, but I didn't ask for your name," Liberty grinned, raising an eyebrow.
"You will," the boy said, standing up. "Trust me, you will."
"You're awful confi'dent for someone who can't even run the length of Harlem without becomin' outtah breath."
"Yeah well I've got othah skills. There any place to get a drink in this town?"
Liberty cocked her head to one side—"First time in New York?"
"First time in America."
"Oh...down the street"—she pointed—"A place called MacDougal's Pub. The bartender is pretty loose; you can probably get a drink for a little cash."
"Great," he replied with a sarcastic tone, "the one thing I don't have. Bloody fantastic."
Liberty shrugged—"Not my fault you're not just perfect at picking pockets."
"Would have gotten away with it if you hadn't chased me down."
"Oh don't put this on me!" she laughed.
"Well it is," he said in a sour tone, turning his back on her as he walked down the street.
Stupid boy, she thought to herself. However, she found herself speaking aloud when she said, "Well I've got a little on me. Not much but...enough for a drink and maybe food. And you don't. How about we make a deal."
The boy stopped and turned back towards her. "Like what?"
"I buy your dinner tonight...and you can pay me back later."
"Hah," the boy chuckled. "Like how? I don't even know my way around this bloody town; you think I'll just waltz in and pick up a job? I'm broke and I'll be broke for a while."
"I can get you a job," she replied.
"Where?"
"Just trust me. A job and a place to stay."
"You'd do that for someone who just...picked your friend’s pocket?"
Liberty shrugged again—"We all do wat we'se gottah do tah survive. It's understan'able. Maybe not to Fingahs, but tah me."
"Fingers?"
"Yeah. The girl whose pocket you picked."
"I picked a girl named Fingers’ pocket?"
"Yeah," Liberty chuckled. "I was pretty amazed too."
Then she jerked her head towards the other opening of the alley.
"C'mon, let's get a bite to eat and I'll tell you all about her."
The boy glanced towards his own end of the alleyway and back. He considered it for a moment, before his stomach growled loudly. Liberty giggled; her voice sounded like the tinkling of small, silver bells. This made the boy break his sour expression into one of amusement.
"How old are you?" he asked, walking back towards her.
"18," she replied.
"Really?" he asked, both his thick eyebrows flying up. "You don't look it...well I mean, your face does but you're...and your hair...and...you just look sort of pixyish. Like something out of a fairy tale."
Liberty laughed again, this time with a little more substance, as she tugged him gently down the alley.
"I know, I know...between the height and the hair cut, I look half 'a decade youngah..."
"Yeah," the boy stopped under the streetlight. "But pretty."
Liberty raised a single eyebrow. "Flattery..." she began.
"Will get you everywhere," he finished with a full-out smirk.
"Yeah," Liberty replied. "Almost everywhere. But right now it's just getting yah dinnah, which you would'ah gotten anyway. So c'mon befah the place closes, it's gottah be past midnight already..."
And so he followed her down the rest of the alleyway after all.
Flash sat on the fire escape, bored practically to tears.
“Havin’ fun yet, McAllen?” Blue Skies called, shoving up the sash on the window.
“Shut up, Costello, an’ sleep like yah wan’ed tah.”
“Well I was jus’ checkin’ on yah…I’ll leave the window unlocked.”
“Thanks, you’se a real pal.”
“Anytime,” Blue replied, closing the window almost all the way and disappearing from Flash’s view, dousing the lights and leaving Flash to look over the darkened city alone.
“Andriola…” she muttered. “I’se gonna sit up heah ‘til yah come back in less than two pieces.”
"Liberty."
"What?"
"My name is Liberty."
The boy and Liberty were sitting in MacDougal's Old Irish Pub, finishing off their second glass of beer each, because Liberty was old friends with the bartender.
"Really?"
Liberty grinned over the rim of her glass—"Really. Angelina Liberty Andriola."
"That's," he took a sip, "interesting. So, how're you going to get a chap like me a place to stay and a job?"
Liberty smirked—"I know people. You're actually gonna be stayin' at the same place I am. An' the same place Fingah's is, fah dat matter." She paused, before taking a gulp of her drink and adding, "I hope you know how to fight."
The boy laughed—a strong, hearty laugh. "Trust me, if there's one thing I know how to do, it's fight."
"So...you said 'dis is yah foyst time in America. Yah a Brit?"
"That I am, love. That I am. Evah hoyd 'a London?"
Liberty grinned—"A coise...'dat wheah you from?"
The boy nodded. "Born and raised."
"Then why'd you come from such a great place tah a rat trap like New Yawk?"
Sipping the last of his beer thoughtfully, he paused before answering. "New York is not a rat trap. It's a town a' dreams, love. A town 'a dreams. A place tah grow and live an' move up in the world. Not like smoggy, foggy London...with its factories and its dreary skies..."
Liberty smiled a small smile and considered this, then shook her head. "You ain't been heah long enough tah know. You tawk tah someone like me who knows this town inside out...there ain't no room for advancement. Kids like us don't gottah chance."
"Or you've got the chance and you just don't take it. I swear, you Americans—yah so jaded. Fate comes right up to you blokes and what do you do? Back off and take a picture..."
"I suppose...maybe," she replied wistfully, pushing her chair back and standing up. "Let's go...I'm taking you to the Bronx guys place for the night and then we're going to Harlem in the morning."
"Harlem? The Bronx?"
Liberty left the money on the table—"You really haven't been here long, have you, kid?"
"No that, love, I have not. A week or two at most. Just wondering through the city."
"Ahhh..." she slapped a final coin down on the table and turned towards the door. "Well you can stop wondering now."
"Why's that?" he asked, following her.
"I've found you."
"That you did, bird. That you did."
Liberty smiled—"I like being called love better than bird."
The boy laughed and held the door open for her as they stepped out into the cool night air. "Alright then, love 'tis."
A single street lamp was all the illumination the night offered them, besides the half-full moon. They walked in silence for a few moments before Liberty spoke.
"What's your name?"
The boy flashed a broad grin at her, following a wink.
"I told you that you'd ask sooner or later."
"Yeah well you gonna tell me or not?"
"Harper," he said. "My name is Harper."
Blue Skies dragged herself out of bed unreasonably early in the morning and grabbed onto the railing of the bunk above her, swinging herself up to see if Flash had come in at all the previous evening.
"Crazy," Blue Skies murmured, going to the window and pushing the sash up. "McAllen?" She stepped carefully over the sill and onto the metal grate of the fire escape and shook Flash’s shoulder.
"Wha-?" Flash mumbled groggily, tilting her head upward to see what was going on.
"Come inside," Blue Skies replied, taking her friend by the arm and helping her to her feet. Flash mindlessly followed Blue Skies back through the window and then climbed up to her bunk.
"Thanks, Blue," she said quietly, still half asleep.
"Anytime, Flash," Blue Skies answered, crawling back into her own bunk to try and catch a bit more sleep herself.
"Mornin', sunshine!"
Liberty rolled over groggily and squinted her bright blue eyes open at the face of Doze Malone.
"Go tah hell," she murmured cheerfully before rolling back over.
"Awww, c'mon Libs. It's a beautiful mornin’—get up. You got a long walk back tah Harlem."
Oh man, that's right... she thought to herself. Finally she caved, gave a sigh, and turned over to stare at the bottom of the bunk above her. Then, with another great sigh, she pushed herself up and swung her legs to the floor.
"Attah' girl," Doze grinned, taking her hand and pulling her up and out of bed.
"Yeah, thrilled...beautiful mornin', thanks..." she murmured as she rubbed her eyes and stretched.
It really was a beautiful morning—the sun was spilling over the city, creeping and cracking at first and then, in a blaze of glory, rushing and spilling and flooding from out behind the buildings and around the street corners, warming even the darkest alleyways. Meaning Liberty would be in pure, unadulterated hell the moment she stepped anywhere near a window or stepped out of the building into the sun. Angelina "Liberty" Andriola might as well have been born nocturnal.
"Ohhhhhh..." she moaned as she shoved her way towards the washroom. She had to go through one sword fight, an early morning poker game, and even a pillow fight before she finally made it to the sink.
"Aha!" she crowed as she slammed the washroom door shut. "Victory!"
"Never say die! Take no prisoners!"
Liberty whirled around to find two laughing brown eyes, fringed in unusually long eyelashes, staring back at her.
"Jeeze," she breathed at Harper's figure standing in the corner. "You frightened me."
"Sorry, love," he said. "But I was going out and then saw you, and having to really work to get over here...so I just thought I'd let you in without interrupting."
"Whatever," Liberty shrugged, leaning over the sink and splashing cold water on her face. She threw her head up, slinging fine droplets of water off her face and running her damp fingers through her short crop of hair. She wiped her face on her sleeve; it was the same shirt she'd been wearing the night before. She always slept in her clothes when she stayed with a roomful of guys. It was just too big a pain to find a quiet place to change.
She tossed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and glanced in the mirror to find Harper staring at her like a schoolboy would a math problem except...more fascinated.
"Can I...help you?" she asked, straightening her rumpled shirt absently in the mirror.
"No..." Harper said, still not looking away from her. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm ghastly for staring but...it's just...girls at home don't ever...I mean, they fuss over themselves all the time. And you just..."
"Run my fingers through my hair and go. Yeah. It's called 'survival'. You really ain't been on the streets long at all, have yah?"
Harper shook his head—"I told you. A week or two."
Liberty nodded, "Yeah. Yeah you did. So, you ready to go see what you're gonna be doin' for a living?"
Shrugging, Harper followed her towards the door as she flung it open, exposing the chaotic bunkroom. He had to practically shout over the noise that flooded in with the opening of the door.
"Yeah I guess! Let's go!"
When Flash woke the following morning, everyone was gone.
“Damn that Costello,” Flash muttered under her breath. “Why didn’t she wake me up?” She swung her legs down to the floor and grabbed her clothes, stepping down the quiet hallway. Oh yeah, she remembered, suddenly looking down the hallway toward the door as if in recognition of Blue Skies. Libs.
She dressed quickly and threw her hair into a quick ponytail before jogging toward the distribution center. It was completely empty by the time she got there. “Damn,” she muttered again. “This jus’ ain’t my day.” She glanced into a few of the deserted newsstands before giving up and leaving the newspaper yard. I suppose I can keep my eyes open for Libs, she thought resignedly. Wondah if she evah came back.
“A liddle late?” Sticks O’Leary crossed the street and tipped his hat slightly to Flash. “Yah missed the papes by a couple hours.”
“Thanks,” Flash replied sharply. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Sticks shrugged good-naturedly. “Jus’ makin’ sure.”
“I’m capable a’—”
“I know, I know, I know. Sorry I even spoke tah yah. G’day, m’lady.”
Flash rolled her eyes and turned away from Sticks, purposefully setting off down the street in the opposite direction. “Wait a minute—O’Leary?” She turned back to face the brown-haired boy.
“Yeah?” he asked, covering the street in quick strides.
“You seen Andriola runnin’ ‘round?” Flash asked, her glance going all directions but his.
“Nah, not since yestah’day,” Sticks answered. “You lookin’ for ‘er?”
“Yeah. If you see ‘er, tell ‘er tah find me.”
“All right, will do, m’lady.”
“Stop callin’ me that, for the love a’ God.”
“All right,” he said again, waving slightly before heading off down the street.
Nosy jerk, Flash thought but didn’t say.
"The name of the game is volume, my man. Volume."
Liberty stood on the hill of Brighton Street, which overlooked most of Harlem from the Bronx. It was the one neutral street between the two territories.
"You move as many of these as you can," she hefted her stack of newspapers in her hand, "in the shortest amount 'a time possible."
Harper glanced down with distaste at the newsprint that was quickly beginning to stain his hands. "Greaaaattt," he muttered cynically.
"Look," Liberty replied, "you want a roof over your head, right? Well to have 'dat, you gottah have money; and tah have money, the easiest t'ing tah do is sell papes."
Harper stared back at her with bold brown eyes and sighed. "Alright, how do we do this?"
"Just like this...PIPES BUST IN COURTHOUSE—ENTIRE BUILDING KNEE-DEEP IN WATER!!! MANY RECORDS LOST!!!"
Before Harper could ask a question, Liberty had turned to him. "You realize," she explained, "that's not the act'ual story. Yah gottah do a little sprucin' up a’ da headlines sometimes."
Examining a headline and thinking a moment, Harper finally burst out with his thick British accent—"CORPSE DISCOVERED IN MAYOR'S BASEMENT! SET-UP OR MURDER?"
Liberty flashed him a grin and, instead of saying anything, she yelled out her next headline. Harper did the same. Back and forth the two went, selling papers until they had worked their way deep back into Harlem.
“Andriola!” Flash’s voice was loud and strong, and carried extremely well through the street. Heads turned to see where the sound had come from, but she was already nonchalantly strolling toward the black-haired Italian girl.
Liberty turned. “Ah, heya McAllen.” She noticed Flash’s eyes drifting to the boy beside her and she grinned. “This heah’s Harper.”
“Nice tah meet ‘cha,” Flash answered, offering a handshake to the boy which he accepted. She studied him warily with her dark, dark eyes. He didn’t really look like a bad kid. She turned back to Liberty. “Yah were gone all night,” she observed.
“Got hung up in the Bronx—stayed the night in Splints’ house.”
“Chasing me,” Harper added in a melancholy tone. “Don’t be mad at her.”
“Hell, I ain’t mad. Jus’ been…a little worried.” Flash shrugged exaggeratedly and looked at the newspapers the two of them held. “Missed the distribution this mornin’…”
“Why’s that?”
“Blue didn’t wake me up,” Flash answered, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“You’se us’ally up b’fore her anyway!” Liberty laughed.
“Yeah but I stayed up,” Flash answered curtly. “Anyway,” she changed the subject, “wheah yah from, Harpah? Not ‘round heah, that’s fer sure…that accent’s a dead giveaway.”
“London,” Liberty answered for him.
“Yes, she’s right,” Harper affirmed. “But I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name, miss…”
“McAllen,” Flash answered. “Sorry ‘bout that…I didn’t get a lot a’ sleep. Not thinkin’ too clear.” She smiled. “Flash McAllen, leadah a’ the Harlem newsgoils. That’s what she is, in case yah was wonderin’.” She gestured with her hands as if ushering on a stage performer. “A Harlem newsgoil.”
“An’ what he’s gonna be is a Harlem newsboy,” Liberty added. “He’s got no money, no job, an’ no place tah stay.”
“Sounds like a definite candidate for Callahan’s crazy place,” Flash answered with a laugh. “Yah wanna head ovah there now?”
Liberty shot Flash a grin. "Sure, why not. Like my life doesn't have enough ‘color’ already."
And so the two were off, Harper following behind, a little confused, a little distraught, but curious. That's usually how things went when Flash and Liberty got together.
Agatha Von Ballen of the New York Von Ballen's was taking tea with her dearest friends that very afternoon. In her early forties, she was practically a relic in society. A relic with old money.
"And so that, dah-ling, is when I notice my pearl necklace is gone! Stolen right off my neck!"
"My poor dear, you must have felt ghastly!" Ester Lennon leaned over, one hand clutched at her chest, the other holding her teacup with unadulterated class.
"Oh believe me, Ester, ghastly isn't the word, it simply isn't the word..."
"What did you do?" This time it was Florence Gainly that leaned over, oblivious to the fact that she was dribbling crumpet crumbs onto her rather large bust, which happened to form a quite adequate shelf.
"Well, what would any respectable woman do? I yelled for the nearest police officer..."
"Oh," interjected Ester again, "the thief hadn't already taken off?"
"Erm...well..." Agatha struggled for words. "He was at the end of the street. And he was with a girl. Short black hair, dirt smudged face—a thief, all right. The police took off straight down the street after him!"
"Oh, how heroic! Did they catch him?"
"Well not exactly." Agatha phrased her words carefully, "But you know those...those street rats. They know every back alleyway of the city. It was easy for them to slither away. The police did the best they could."
Ester and Florence nodded gravely—"The best they could, yes..."
"You know, those street children are getting to be a real problem," Florence offered her insight. "Someone really ought to do something..."
"Yes," added Ester. "Really. Immoral things, really. No better than vermin and roaches."
"Hear, hear! I agree!" Agatha nodded vigorously. "More tea, ladies?"
“Greetin’s, ladies…an’ gentleman,” Knuckles stated, grinning at the Harlem newsgirls as he ushered them through the door. “Lovely tah see yah, Miss McAllen, an’ Miss Andriola, the pleasure’s all mine…”
“Cut it out,” Flash said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Seen Blue tahday?”
“As a mattah a’ fact, I did. Jus’ a very short time ago,” he paused, “can’t quite recall…” He turned around. “Oh Ski-ies!”
“Whaddya want, Callaha—oh, heya McAllen, I see yah found the disappeahin’ wondah.”
“Yah could call it that,” Flash answered, “What ‘cha doin’ heah, eh? Thought this was the boys’ house…”
“Playin’ cards,” Blue Skies answered primly. Or as primly as was possible considering the fact that she was Blue Skies Costello, leader of the Harlem newsgirls.
“I bet,” Flash muttered, shooting Knuckles a tortured look. “Well I hate tah be interruptin’ this pressin’ card game, but I’se got someone yah might wanna meet.” She stepped aside and gestured grandly to Harper. “This,” she stated as if on stage, “is Harper. An’ he’s gonna be joinin’ forces wit’ the grand-an’-great Harlem newsboys.” She turned to Harper and spoke conspiratorially, “An’ this is Knuckles Callahan, feahless, amazin’, an’ able tah make Blue Skies Costello blush from across town. He’s also the leadah a’ the Harlem newsboys. Which is what you’se gonna be, if ‘e likes yah enough.” She grinned after this speech and then bowed dramatically to Knuckles. “My liege.”
Liberty applauded graciously—or Flash thought it was rather gracious—and then shoved Harper into the room so that she could follow, closing the wooden door behind her. “Blue Skies blushin’, eh?” She laughed quietly. “Quite a feat, Callahan.”
Blue Skies was indeed blushing.
“I think so,” he said, picking Blue Skies up and spinning her in a circle before setting her down. She frowned.
“Quit showin’ off…” she rolled her eyes. “Yah left out full-a’-‘imself an’ pretentious.”
“Big word, Costello,” Flash teased.
“Big dolt,” she answered in the same tone of voice. “Yah bettah quit it, McAllen, or I’ll tell O’Leary that you’se heah.”
“Oh, please, nooo!” Flash protested, her voice filled with agony. She dropped to her knees and cowered. “I’ll do anythin’, anythin’ if yah—”
“Thought that was you, McAllen.”
“Nevah mind,” Flash murmured darkly, standing up again. “Lovely tah see yah, O’Leary.”
“You too,” he said with a smile.
Flash had nothing to say to that, so she just shoved Harper forward again. “Anyway, yeah; this is Harper, he’s a newsboy. Take care a’ him, Callahan.” She glanced at Blue Skies. “I’se assumin’ yah ain’t comin’ wit’? All right.” She opened the door once again and stepped outside. “I’se leavin’.” She turned to Liberty. “Yah comin’?”
Turning and giving Sticks a glance, then a wink, Liberty replied, "Nah... got some t'ings tah catch up on. And dey don't involve Harlem or its newsboys. Maybe O'Leary here would like to take my place 'a walkin’ you home..."
"I'd be delighted," said Sticks from behind her.
"Lovely," replied Liberty as she ignored the look Flash was obviously trying to kill her with.
"Harper," she said, turning to the British boy who was looking a bit confused and lost, but also a bit smug.
"Yeah?"
"You gonna be...alright heah? I mean, I'se jest leavin’ you like 'dis...wit’ 'dese crazy boys..." She offered Knuckles a smile.
"Hey," Harper replied, punching her in the shoulder lightly like she had done to him so many times in the past 24 hours. "You forget I was alone for quite a while before you found me. I can take care of myself. Besides, I'll be willin’ to bet I'll have a great time here..." he gestured around, "smashing time. Really. Now go on."
"I'll…ah...check on yah ta'marra..."
"I'll be looking forward to it, love."
Liberty didn't offer a smile as she shoved her way quickly out the door, ignoring the odd looks from Flash and the others at her sudden exit. Once safely on the street, she waited until she was a good distance from the Harlem Newsboys Lodging House before stopping to study her reflection in a store window.
She was blushing.
Flash made up a little song in her head as she walked back to Harlem, tailed by but not along with Sticks. It went something like this: Damnit, damnit, damnit, followed by, leave me alone.
“Hey Flash?”
“What?” she asked, turning around.
“Wait up.”
She thought about singing her song for Sticks but decided that it wouldn’t serve much of a purpose, so she just continued repeating it in her head. Damnit, damnit, damnit.
“Thanks,” he said, falling into step beside her. “Didn’t wanna lose yah.”
Leave me alone.
“How was yah day?”
“Fine.”
“I see yah found Libs.”
“Brilliant observation.”
“Mad about somethin’?”
“Of course not.”
“Yah don’t sound like yah very happy.”
“I nevah said I was happy.”
“What’s the mattah?”
She glared at him. “Nothin’.”
“Nothin’? Hey, yah know yah can trust me, right?”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“Not even Skies?”
“Not even Skies.”
“Now that isn’t true…”
“What—d’yah know what I’se thinkin’? Who’d know, me or you?”
“Well, I mean…” he hedged. “Sometimes yah think that yah know somethin’ ‘bout yahself, but yah don’t…y’know?”
“No,” she answered shortly, beginning once more to walk briskly down the street. “I don’t.”
He had to run to catch up with her.
The sun was beginning to set by the time Liberty reached Brooklyn. She offered a smile up at the stars that were beginning to peak through the sky—night was her time and her time alone. She struggled through the day just to get to it.
The building provided a sharp contrast with the colors of the sunset. Nicky would be going home about now. As she rounded a corner, she saw she was right.
Watching carefully, she viewed a tall, striking young man step into a horse-drawn carriage. Quickly, Liberty squatted down by the curb and made her way up to the carriage, then climbed onto the back of it just in time for the driver to give a yell, and the horses to be off.
It was a bumpy ride to South Brooklyn.
“I don’t like him!” Flash announced to the bunkroom as she stepped through the door. “I do not!”
“Yah quite sure a’ that?” Gypsy asked with a grin.
“So sure yah couldn’t believe it,” Flash answered definitively.
“An’ who’re we trashin’ ta’night, McAllen?” asked Angel from her bunk. “My money’s on O’Leary.”
“A’ course it’s O’Leary,” Flash answered with annoyance. “Who else follows me around all day an’ all night?”
“Someone didn’t get ‘nuff sleep last night,” Angel muttered, rolling her eyes. “Go tah bed, McAllen.”
The horses stopped at a tall, narrow apartment building. Liberty stared up at it as the young man in the carriage got out. She waited until he was inside the building before hopping off the back and stowing away in the bushes. It was then that a thought occurred to her.
Why is the driver waiting the carriage for him? He never waits...Nicky just goes home for the night and that's that.
But tonight, he was waiting. So Liberty waited too instead of scaling the fire escape of the building like she did every other time she made this trek to South Brooklyn.
Several minutes later, he emerged from the building carrying several boxes. Cautiously, he loaded them into the carriage. Then he returned inside and repeated the process. After several more minutes, he finally made his last trip with a small girl by his side.
"Lucy..." Liberty breathed from her hiding place. It made her heart hurt when she realized how long it had been since she'd seen her younger sister.
Lucy followed Nicky into the carriage. Liberty sat there in the bushes, awe-struck. They were moving out of the apartment. It didn't occur to Liberty until they were all the way down the street to follow them.
Narrowing her eyes slightly, Flash shrugged. “Sure thing, Bradshaw. Aftah the rest a’ yah finish makin’ noise an’ we can all get some sleep.”
“Oh, an’ yah did find Andriola, didn’t ‘cha?” Angel inquired, flopping onto her back and staring up at the bunk above her. “I’se hopin’ so.”
“Yeah…she spent the night in the Bronx,” Flash answered. “She was chasin’ down the guy that picked Mulcahy’s pocket.”
“Someone picked Fingers’ pocket?” Angel replied incredulously, turning her large blue eyes to face Flash. “That kid must be good.”
“He’s British,” Flash answered as if this explained everything. “An’ b’sides, she almost caught ‘im.” She sighed. “An’ Libs…” she shook her head. “The kid’s name’s Harpah,” she added, changing the subject back. “An’ he’s gonna be stayin’ at Callahan’s.”
“Yah went ovah there?” Gypsy asked.
“Callahan’s? Yeah…Costello’s ovah there, too.”
“Which Costello?” Angel asked. Suddenly she realized what she’d said and covered her mouth.
“Skies,” Flash answered, her dark eyes lighting up. “Why d’yah ask?”
“There’s two a’ ‘em,” Angel muttered. “Jus’ wonderin’—”
“Ain’t Chance usu’lly ovah there?”
“Yeah, but—aw, shut up, McAllen, or I’ll tell yah some a’ the things I’se been hearin’ ‘bout O’Leary.”
Flash threw her pillow at Angel.
It was no problem for Liberty to catch up with the carriage; it was just a problem following it all the way through Brooklyn. She came up shorter and shorter of breath; she had to quit smoking...it was killing her running...
Suddenly the carriage stopped, almost causing Liberty to slam into the back of it—she'd been following so close, running so hard. Thinking fast as she saw the door open, she grabbed a hold of the axle bar and swung herself under the carriage, praying the sound of the horses noise at being stopped so fast would cover the sound of her boots scratching the street. It did. She heard her older brother's voice above her.
"C'mon, mio amore...we've got to get all moved in..."
"Awww Nicky, I don't wanna leave our apartment; c'mon, let's go back..."
"Lucille, listen - there are some things in life we just gottah to. It's safer this way."
"Why, are we'se suddenly not safe? Wat's the mattah, Nicky? Why can't we stay in our old apartment - I don't wanna move uptown...yah scarin me..."
"Sweetheart, I promise—you'll like it here. It's five times as big as our old apartment, you can have your own room and you'll get to see Mrs. Venchetti everyda - "
"I don't want Mrs. Venchetti! I want Liberty! When's she comin back, Nicky?"
Liberty's eyes teared as she heard her own sister’s voice fill with confusion and sadness. Oh, if she only understood...if she only understood...
Nicky's voice got tense as he spoke. "I don't know, Lucy. I really don't. I wish I did."
There was a moment of silence, and then Liberty heard the rustling of boxes as the two began carrying them inside the fancy apartment building that served entirely as Nicky's office and headquarters. Once they were both inside, she took the chance to slip out from under the carriage and begin her long trek home. It was only until she started running and the wind blew against her face that she noticed she was dripping wet with tears.
“Oh for the love a’ God,” Flash murmured, glancing around the bunkroom in annoyance. “Costello? Yah seen Andriola since earliah at Callahan’s?”
“She left shortly aftah you,” Blue Skies responded with a shrug.
"An’ didn’t come back heah?"
"I dunno, I didn’t go wit’ ‘er."
"Didn’t anyone go wit’ ‘er?"
"Why would anyone go wit’ ‘er. You’se talkin’ ‘bout Liberty Andriola. If anyone can take care a’ herself, it’s Brooklyn-trained Lady Liberty ‘erself," Blue Skies explained. Flash climbed up onto her bunk and put her head down to look at her friend.
"I spent last night lookin’ for ‘er, an’ I ain’t spendin’ tahnight the same way."
"Yah sure ain’t," Blue Skies responded with a smile. "Trust me. She can take care a’ ‘erself."
"I know she can," Flash muttered, returning to a sitting position on her bunk. "But that don’t mean that I ain’t gonna sit heah wonderin’ wheah she is."
"How’s she doin’, anyway?" asked Angel, lying on her back with her hands pressed against the bunk above her. "She was awful sad there for a while." She rolled onto her side and looked at Flash.
"Not really," Flash answered with a shrug. "She’s fine. Andriola bounces back pretty easily."
"I guess," Blue Skies muttered.
"That’s for sure," Gypsy agreed with a nod.
"What’s for sure?" asked Sketch, bouncing into the room.
"Ah, nothin’. Heya, Meeks," Blue Skies greeted, turning to face the door. "How was yah day?"
"Oh, it was amazin’ly wondahful—" Sketch began. Suddenly she whirled around and her hazel eyes got very large. "Oh no, oh no…oh no-oh no…"
"What’s the—oh damn," Angel rolled her eyes. "Welcome tah the party, Bailey."
"Ah, so this is the infamous Cole," Blue Skies greeted the tawny-haired, hazel-eyed boy.
"The fact that yah know that jus’ from the reaction ‘e’s gettin’…" Flash murmured, turning to face the newcomer. "Heya, Bailey."
"We haven’t met," Cole was saying to Blue Skies, offering her a handshake. "I’se Cole Bailey, an’ you’se simply gorgeous."
Blue Skies rolled her dark blue eyes. "Blue Skies Costello, an’ I’se in charge ‘round heah."
"The pleasure’s all yours," Cole continued. Suddenly he stopped short. "Wait, you’se the leadah ‘round heah? But what ‘bout Miss High-an’-Mighty ovah there?" he pointed to Flash.
"Miss High-an’-Mighty jus’ didn’t like findin’ some random guy in her bed one evenin’," Flash answered, narrowing her eyes.
"She’s the leadah too," Blue Skies explained slowly. "We both are. That’s the way things woik ‘round heah."
"Yah spend ‘nuff a’ yah time heah tah know that by now," Flash muttered.
"An’ Miss Meeks," Cole began, turning to face the dark-haired girl. "It’s so lovely tah see yah again…"
"Ah! Get ‘im away from me, for the love a’ God!" Sketch hollered, ducking behind Angel. "Someone get ‘im outta heah. Get ‘im out!"
"I’se given yah nothin’ but love an’ affection," Cole whimpered. "An’ you’se killin’ me wit’ yah harsh words."
"Good. I hope it kills yah quickly," she answered loftily. "So I don’t gotta deal wit’ ‘chu any longah than I gotta."
"Meeks," Flash said, rolling her eyes.
"Yeah, Meeks…" Cole grinned charmingly and then turned back to Blue Skies. "You’se got one mighty rude goil ovah there. She tried tah kill me yestahday when I was heah."
"You’se heah every day. An’ I didn’t try tah kill yah, I jus’…wan’ed yah outta heah."
"Yeah, that’s what I call it when you’se waving knives around…"
"No one was wavin’ knives around! I don’t got a knife you idiot!"
"Cole," Angel stated, slapping him on the back of the head. "Shut up."
"Me? I didn’t do nothin’!" he whimpered, his hazel eyes filling with tears. "God, yah all hate me so much…all a’ yah ‘cept for Ash." He smiled dreamily, tears forgotten. "She’s the woman I’se always wan’ed…"
"Ash Villaflores…" Blue Skies covered her mouth to keep from laughing.
"She’s the most beautiful woman on earth," Cole continued. "Seein’ her jus’ makes me wanna—"
"Shut up!" Angel exclaimed, slapping him again. "Go find somethin’ tah do," she ordered. "An’ not in heah."
"Ash is the only one that loves me," Cole’s voice didn’t waver for an instant. "She realizes my true wonderful spirit and pleasant nature…"
"And ability to B.S. with the best of them," muttered Flash.
Cole nodded, eyes grinning, "Yeah, that too."
Harper was not having the best of times at the Harlem Newsboys Lodging House. He sat down on the bunk Knuckles had assigned him, and didn't say much to anyone. It was odd—to see him sitting perfectly still in a room full of rowdy boys.
"Alright, who's got my cards?"
"Don't look at me, I don't got 'em..."
"Anyone up for a game of dice?"
"Yeah, just a sec—I gottah get a smoke..."
"If yah smokin, open the—"
"What the hell? Alright, who took me cigarettes?"
Harper listened intently. The static noise of the room followed a strange pattern—it would begin quiet and slowly grow until it peaked, then drop down low again. This interested Harper—of course, almost everything about people interested Harper. That was how he had made his living in London—by watching people. It was amazing, what kind of routines they'd slip into. He could sometimes get fifty dollars at a time off people; he just watched when they went to the bank. Most of them went the same day every week, an easy target. He'd catch them coming out, and they wouldn't know what hit them until they were home. Yes, it's amazing what you can learn by sitting on a park bench.
Even here in New York, it was easy pickings for someone as experienced as Harper. That lady had been his biggest hit—that lady a few days ago, right before that Harlem girl—Fingers—had caught him. Yeah, that lady...he'd been watching her for a long time. She kept her jewelry in a safety box at the bank. Harper could tell she was one of those real uptight women—she came out every day almost, wearing a new necklace. And when she'd come out wearing pearls—it had been all too easy. Jerked them right off her neck by knicking the clasp...they'd fallen right into his hands. And then when she'd noticed a few seconds later and screamed for a policeman, Harper had been halfway down the street. She'd pointed at the two nearest street kids; Harper turned the corner just before he could see who. But it didn't matter, he—
"Hey Harp'ah!"
The British boy glanced up sharply at his name being called. He saw a tall, slouching boy calling out his name.
"Yeah?" he answered back suspiciously.
"We'se startin a card game—you wanna join us? We need a fifth..."
Harper tried not to break out in a grin. That was his fall-back if the pickpocketing was slim—card playing. He'd really been something back in London; everyone worth their salt knew the name Harper. But not here in New York. Harper hadn't gotten into a card game in the American city yet, but he'd heard stories. Stories that practically every street kid in New York was playing cards before they could walk. That they'd take you for all you had. That they were good—real good.
Harper's kind of people.
"Sure," he stood up and walked over to where the card game was accumulating. "What're you blokes playin?"
"Five card stud," said the boy who had originally beckoned him over. Harper noticed that he had longish brown hair, kept pushed back behind his ears and under an old train conductor’s hat.
"Oh..." Harper said, putting on his best show of a naïve look. "I've never played that," he lied, "but I'll give anything a try once."
The obviously good-natured boy gave him a grin and replied, "Great! The name's Hobo—Hobo Rosenthal."
Harper offered back a grin of his own, shaking Hobo's hand. "Harper. Last name doesn't matter."
Hobo nodded, "that's undahstan'able. C'mon, looks like the game is gettin’ started."
The two boys made their way over to the middle of the room, where a poker circle was forming.
Liberty had stopped running and was now walking along South Bryant Street after working her way across the Brooklyn Bridge and back to the main island of Manhattan. She slowly came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk for no apparent reason. Her eyes drifted up to the stars. As she scanned them, part of her wanted to run back to that fancy apartment building uptown, bang on the door, and fall sobbing into her older brother's arms. He always made things right; he always fixed things. He would fix her this time...and make everything right again. That's when Liberty's eyes fell on a certain star constellation.
Her breath caught in her throat; she counted out the familiar three stars. They formed the belt of Orion, the Hunter. A pained sob tore itself from Liberty's lips, echoing down the empty street. Orion. Orion, Orion, Orion...her Orion...the one that was going to take her away from all this...and Nicky had—God, she shoved the thought out of her mind and turned her head quickly down the street. There, her eyes fell on a large, carefully handpainted sign. She immediately recognized the writing—Connie. Or Storm, as she was called now. God, Liberty didn't see Storm much these days...oh, every now and then. But not lately. And she certainly hadn't been in her bar in a long time. The Brooklyn Bridge Bar. The Brooklyn Bridge. Brooklyn.
She found herself wandering in the door a few moments later.
"Alright, name of the game is five card stud, and for a reason..."
Harper eyed the dealer carefully. He had been introduced as Sham Delanie. Harper was betting he didn't get that nickname for no reason, so he watched the boy's dealing carefully.
"‘Cause you get five cards and that's all you get. No exchanges. No trade-ins. Nothin. Wat you get is what you'se stuck with." Sham's accent ran heavily through the air as he accurately snapped down cards with one hand. "Hah," Harper thought to himself. "He thinks he's such a hot ticket. I wish I could get my hands on those bloody cards—I'd show him a trick or two about dealing." His pride was being smothered; there were three things in life he was good at: lying, pickpocketing, dealing and playing cards. And it wasn't feeling too good when he couldn't do two-thirds of those things at the current moment. So instead he just replied, "Oh, okay, I get it," and took his "bloody" cards.
"Good, let's do this. One-eyed Jacks and Suicide Kings wild."
Oddly enough, nobody bothered to explain the strange slang to Harper. But he knew something they didn't—he knew all the slang in the book.
Harper let his eyes stray to each individual newsboy—he was excellent at reading expressions. Probably the only reason he was a decent card player was because he could play his hand to suit what others had before they laid it down. He knew when to hold and when to fold.
The boy to his right—the one they called Paris—he was laughing about something. He rearranged his cards...then rearranged them again. And again. Obviously trying to make something out of his hand. Also, obviously, not having any luck at it.
The boy to Harper's left—a rough looking guy that had growled "name's Greaser" in a low, Irish tone. He had something. He was who Harper had to watch out for...
"Alright, lay 'em down," Sham called out. The five boys laid down their cards on the floor, then let their eyes travel frantically to everyone else’s.
Sham had a full house; two fours and three fives. Paris had a pair of duces. Harper glanced at Greaser's cards just as Greaser glanced at his.
A straight sat in front of Greaser—a 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9. But a Royal Flush sat in front of Harper. He saw Greaser's jaw clench, and for a moment, he felt a pang of fear in his heart. New York was a rough place. Harper assumed he was about to find that out firsthand. The other three boys glanced nervously at Greaser and Harper.
Then, suddenly, Greaser broke out into a small grin and slapped Harper on the back, a little hard. Harper lurched forward, but offered up a smile in return.
"You're alright, aye, you are," Greaser replied with his Irish undertone. Harper forced his smile a little wider.
"Thanks," he replied, standing up. "But one hand is enough for me, I'm going to get some sleep."
The other boys nodded, then sought out another fifth for their game to continue.
Harper walked toward his bottom bunk, a little shaken. He never was one to do well in fights, and the hint of one always shook him up a little. It had been a rough day—hell, it had been a rough several days. But, as he stripped down to his undershirt and long underwear, and climbed under the covers, Harper's mind drifted quite lazily towards something quite pleasant. Someone with stunning blue eyes. Someone who made him smile. Someone he called "love".
Someone named Liberty.
Loud band music blasted through the bar door as Liberty opened it. She surveyed the scene in front of her with an odd feeling surrealism. Couples were dancing in the crowded dance floor, men were joking at the bar. Quickly, she took a table at the back.
As she slid into a two-seated table, signaling "just a minute" to the waitress, Liberty's eyes landed sharply on two couples at a rather large table ahead of her, right off the dance floor. All of the sudden, all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room.
In plain view were two girls and two boys; she knew all four. A tall, loud Italian who was throwing her head back with loud laughter, her dark hair flowing down behind her: Storm. She sat comfortably in the cocoon of a grinning jokester of a boy, who's sparkling grey eyes seemed to have an endless amount of passion and laughter: Sunrise Morgan.
Across from the two of them sat a girl Liberty had met once—well, not really met. Storm had pointed her out on one freak occasion. Her name was Annie—the Bronx girls called her Mouse. She sat there, laughing herself. She was obviously enjoying herself, but seemed a little more reserved than the other three. Her brown hair trailed down her chest in two braids; her fingers were carefully interlaced with the boy’s next to her. It was that boy that made the world seem to come crashing down for Liberty.
"Dove," she whispered.
"What?" the waitress asked loudly.
"Shhh!" Liberty reproached her. The waitress rolled her eyes and stalked off.
Dove's soft hazel eyes seemed to be incredibly happy—he seemed to be incredibly happy. He was leaning closer to the girl now—talking gently. His blonde hair fell over his eyes. Suddenly, he turned his head back up and spoke to Sunrise. Sunrise, in turn, nodded and turned to Storm. She nodded as well. The four stood up. Dove helped Annie out of her chair and pushed it back in for her. Liberty could feel her heart breaking all over again.
"Dove," she tried to whisper again as the group headed for the door.
"Dove!" Liberty called out, her mouth open wide. But nothing echoed through the air except the endless bar chatter and the band. Liberty's voice never got past the lump in her throat.
Storm pushed the door open, Sunrise following. Dove quickly stepped in front of Annie, holding the door open for her. She gave him a shy glance; Liberty could see her mouthing the words "thank you". No, Liberty's mind was racing. Don't leave...I need to look at you. I need to see you. I need to talk to you. Please, we've got so many months to catch up on...don't leave me now...don't betray me again... She found her hand outstreached helplessly towards the door as it closed.
As if the slamming of the bar door cast off some magical spell, Liberty's suddenly came to life again.
"Oh Nathanial," she said quietly. "Dove..."
The waitress' loud, rough voice shattered Liberty's fantastical world of intermixed pleasure and pain.
"Can I take yah order now?"
“Skies?” Flash asked, turning sideways on her bunk to look down at her friend.
“Yeah?” Blue Skies responded, looking up from the book she was reading.
“Ah, uh, yah…d’yah know where Andriola’s been goin’ all these—”
“I’d think if anyone’d know it’d be you,” Blue Skies answered, her voice somewhat sarcastic. “Aftah all, yah’s been spendin’ more time wit’ ‘er lately than anyone else.”
“Well since you’se always runnin’ off wit’ that stupid boyfriend a’ yah’s—”
“Hold it, McAllen, Costello…Jesus,” Angel shook her head and propped her chin up on her hands, looking at the two with signs of disappointment in her eyes. “Relax, for Christ’s sake…”
Flash and Blue Skies both turned their heads to look at Angel before Flash returned to her bunk.
“The two a’ yah’s in charge heah. The youngah ones look up tah yah. An’ I know sure’s anyone else that yah ain’t much older than I am, but you’se in charge ‘cause yah’s got leadahship capabilities. That some a’ us don’t have, an’ some a’ us do. The point is, it ain’t gonna fix nothin’ if the two a’ yah can’t get along.”
“Look heah, Bradshaw,” Flash began, her dark eyes on the fair-haired girl.
“Jus’ listen,” Angel finished, putting up a hand. “The two a’ yah’s best friends. I know that, you know that…an’ it don’t do any good tah have the two a’ yah arguin’ ovah stupid stuff. An’ lately, the two a’ you’se been arguin’ ovah really stupid stuff.”
Cocking her head to the side, Flash continued to stare incredulously at Angel, and below her, Blue Skies nodded at Angel. “Yah’s got a point, Bradshaw.”
“I know,” Angel answered with a shrug. “I don’t us’ally go makin’ blanket statements ‘bout the girls that run the joint I stay at, but, well…yah was startin’ tah lose p’ra’spective.”
Flash shook her head and pulled her book out from under her pillow, opening it and beginning to scan the pages with her eyes. She wasn’t really reading, though.
But as for losing perspective, that was another thing entirely.
Liberty stayed in the bar, drowning herself in drinks until it closed down at about 1:00 that morning. Through the night, she recognized what she thought to be several familiar faces. Pockets, from Bensonhurst. Sky-High from Long Island. Mystery from Little Italy. Racetrack...Nicky...Miguel...They all came and went. They came and went in her visions of the murky liquid in her glass; the visions of the people on the dance floor; the memories that plagued her mind.
They hadn't let her see Orion's body. She wished they had—that way her mind would know the image and hopefully retire it. But no, she hadn't seen the body. So her mind was left to wonder. Dove had said he'd been shot several times. What could have been three shots turned into a hundred in Liberty's mind; his body filled with holes. So much blood, so many gaping dark holes; she couldn't actually see his face. Any reminder of the sweet, kind conman she'd been engaged to. Well, sweet and kind to her.
And then shots rang out in her head—not made-up shots, shots she'd actually heard earlier in her life. The sound of a door being kicked in. Screaming—her own. Dove's voice, solid and calm, coming through the air—"Liberty...Liberty...what happened...Liberty..."
Liberty.
Liberty.
Liberty.
"Miss?"
Angelina "Liberty" Andriola awoke startled from her fitful dream, face down on one of the bartables. She jerked her head up and glanced at where the voice came from—a waitress.
"Yeah?" Liberty asked groggily.
"We're closing up now..."
Tossing a few coins on the table, the young Italian newsgirl shoved her chair back from the table and stood up without a word. She struggled to make it to the door—it kept moving—partially from her liquored-up state, partially from sleep gone bad, and partially from plain old sorrow.
"Liberty?" came the curious voice of a medium-height newsgirl as she shoved her brown hair back behind her ears. She shook the Italian girl's shoulder, stepping back when her dark, liquid-blue eyes fluttered open in annoyance.
"Yes'm?" Liberty asked, her voice a rather low grumble.
"I was jus', ah, wond'rin' why yah's, ah, sleepin' at the bottom a' the fire escape?"
"'Cause I couldn't find the top, Meeks," she answered with a shrug.
"Yah couldn't find…" Sketch trailed off before shrugging it off. "All right. Yah gonna wake up an' sell wit' the rest a' us this mornin'?"
"Sure. Wheah's McAllen?"
"Hell if I know…prob'ly still sleepin'."
Liberty cocked an eyebrow. "She's usu'lly up b'fore anyone else"
Sketch shrugged once more. "Then she's out sellin'."
"You'se a big help, Meeks, a real help," Liberty answered, nodding, and pulling herself annoyedly to her feet. "Real great help." She stood up and rolled her eyes slightly at the younger newsgirl. "Distribution center, did yah say?"
"I said…" Sketch paused and then shrugged. "I dunno what I said. She's somewheah."
"Thanks," Liberty responded with sarcasm edging her words. She started off to buy some newspapers.
"Snails inundate the Harlem rivah; unbelievable quantities a' snails takin' ovah New Yawk!" Flash exclaimed in the direction of Blue Skies and Knuckles, who were walking down the street in deep conversation. "Hey," she said, jumping in front of them as they walked. "Wanna buy a paper? Snails takin' ovah New Yawk"
"Snails takin'-" Blue Skies snatched the Journal from Flash's hands. "Wheah's that?"
"Uh…page…7," Flash answered off-handedly, snatching the paper back. "Get 'cha own, lovah-goil"
"McAllen!" announced a voice. The three turned around to see Sketch Meeks bouncing up the sidewalk with a smile plastered on her face.
"What's the story, Meeks?" Flash asked, tilting her head to one side.
"Liberty was lookin' for yah," Sketch answered with an ecstatic nod.
"An' we's in such a good mood…why?" Knuckles asked, ruffling Sketch's hair lightly.
"It's a nice day," Sketch answered, motioning toward the overcast, grayish sky. "Or…a fairly nice day."
"It ain't snowin'," Flash agreed.
"It ain't rainin'," Blue Skies observed at the same time. The two grinned at each other.
"Yep, it ain't!" Sketch nodded once more before taking off down the street.
"Snails takin' ovah New Yawk!" she shouted as she turned the corner.
"Is that really in there?" Flash murmured, suddenly scanning the pages of the paper once more.
"Nah," Knuckles shrugged. "She must a' been listenin' tah yah b'fore."
"Good," Flash muttered, refolding the paper. "'Cause if snails were really takin' ovah New Yawk"
"That'd be weird," Blue Skies affirmed. "Really, really weird"
Liberty stifled a yawn. The selling wasn't what it should have been. But then, of course, it usually never is with a hangover.
She plopped down on the curb outside a dress shop, pulling a spare cigarette from behind her ear. Patting herself down for matches, it took her several moments to realize she apparently had none. She sighed, removing her cigarette from her mouth and holding it between her fingers, studying it. It was then that she heard a match flare.
"Need a light?"
Turning around revealed the British, newly-reformed pickpocket-recently-turned-newsboy.
"Well mornin' tah you too, Harper." She replaced her cigarette in her mouth as he set down next to her, leaning her direction to light it for her. She took a few drags to get it started, then offered one to Harper. He declined.
"You look like hell, love," he commented as he shook out the match and tossed it into the gutter.
"Yeah, well," Liberty commented back, blowing smoke in his direction, "I'd say that right about now, hell ain't got nothin' on me."
At this, Harper laughed a loud laugh. "Late night, eh?"
"Oh yeah. I don't think I've ever put away so many vodka tonics in my entire life..."
"Big drinker, eh?"
"Not really," Liberty replied, leaning back against a lamppost as she studied Harper's expression. "What?"
He shrugged. "Just thinkin’."
"‘Bout what?"
Well," he began, "if you aren't normally a big drinker, what drove you to get so smashed?"
"So what?"
"Drunk."
"Oh..." she thought about this for a moment, sighing. She really wasn't in the mood to play games anymore. She'd fended off all the people she wanted to fend off; she'd hid her secrets for so long. "How about," she continued, "we tawk 'bout this over lunch. You hungry?"
"Always."
The two rose from the curb, Harper having to help Liberty up, and took off for the nearest diner.
“Hey Flash,” Angel greeted the leader, lying on her bunk with her head flopped over the side. “How’s life?”
“Fine, Bradshaw,” Flash responded with a nod to the rest of the girls. The afternoon sun was filtering through the window. “Heya.”
“Hey, Flashie!” announced a very distinct male voice. Flash turned around with her eyes narrowed.
“Do not even start, Bailey. What are yah doin’ heah? Bradshaw—” She glanced left and right. “Where are you?” She frowned. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re in my bed again…”
“I’m stuck,” came the melancholy reply. Angel couldn’t suppress a laugh and she covered her mouth.
“Whaddya mean you’se—” Flash noticed a movement beneath Smoke’s bunk. “Cole Bailey, you get outta there right this minute!”
“I can’t, Lady Flashie. That’s what stuck means,” he whimpered. “An-gel! Lift up the bed ‘er somethin’!”
“I told yah you’d get stuck if you went under there,” Angel replied with a shrug. She pushed her long blonde hair out of her face and bit her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud.
“He actually got stuck,” mused Imp Harris, emerging from the washroom with a smile on her face. “I thought that’s what I heard yah sayin’, Angel.”
“Oh, that’s what I was sayin’,” responded the blue-eyed girl with a smirk. “How’s the weather down there, Cole?”
He sneezed in response. “Dusty. Smokie never does clean under heah, does she?” He whimpered again, in what he hoped was a very pathetic manner. “Someone get me out! Now! It ain’t funny anymore!”
“And why should we do that?” inquired Angel innocently.
“Don’t let him out,” Flash advised, smiling slightly and climbing up onto her bunk. She needed something to get her out of her dark mood, and this was working quite well.
“Because I’m cute and you love me! That’s why!”
“Geez,” Flash muttered. “Hey, Bailey. I’ll make yah a deal. If yah manage tah get yahself outta there, I ain’t gonna throw yah out.”
“Gee, that’s motivational,” Cole replied, beginning to rock back and forth violently beneath the bunk.
“He’s gonna tip it over!” announced Angel gleefully.
“Since I’m obviously here forever,” Cole whined, “could someone get me a beer?”
“You’ve never drank in your life, bud,” Imp grinned in response.
“I’m going to be here forever!” he whimpered.
“He is not staying in this room all night,” Flash stated devoutly.
“How about we cover him up?” Imp suggested. “He’s making the room ug-ly!”
“With a vase here,” Angel stated, jumping up and patting him—rather hard—on the head. “And perhaps a little tablecloth…”
“Yeah, maybe a doily-type-a’-thing. Cover up that ugly mug,” Imp agreed with a grin.
“My mug does not need covering up,” stated Cole with a glower.
“Better idea,” Flash stated. “How ‘bout we just cover ‘im up wit’ a rug?”
“No rugs!” Cole responded loudly. “I enjoy breathin’, thank you!”
“Well, if he stays here long ‘nuff an’ we don’t feed ‘im, he’ll get skinny ‘nuff tah get out, eh?” Angel smiled at her ingenuity.
“He ain’t stayin’ ‘ere that long,” Flash answered, jumping down from her bed and landing with a thud. “Gimme ‘is hands.” She grabbed a hold of Cole’s wrists and yanked.
“Damnit, he really is stuck,” she said, a bit surprised. She stood up, taking a deep breath. “Well, that’s just great. Bradshaw, Harris…we’re liftin’ this stupid bed up an’ gettin’ rid a’ ‘im once an’ for all. Got it?” The other two girls grinned.
“D’we really wanna let ‘im out?” Angel said with a smirk. “I mean, it’s kinda like having a fish in a fishbowl, yah know?”
“I am not like a fish!” shrieked Cole rather femininely as he wriggled frantically against the bed. It banged against the floor as it was wiggled. “Lemme alone! I’m perfectly happy right here!”
The girls ignored this, still advancing towards him.
The Corner Pocket Cafe was crowded beyond belief as Liberty and Harper pushed their way through the front door. The mass congestion of people spilled out of the main entrance and onto the street; old friends lingering and talking, mother and daughter making plans, lovers waiting patiently and star-struck for one another; all seemingly unaware of the rest of the world and the fact that two street kids were trying their hardest to make it to a corner booth.
"You still servin' breakfast?" Libs mumbled to the waitress. She returned a vague nod, her pen poised and ready for action, not unlike green soldier a bit too gung-ho for battle. Sucking a deep breath through her thin lips, Liberty began to ramble off her order.
"Three eggs, sunny side up; half a side of bacon, couple of pieces of toast, half order of waffles - don't be stingy wit’ that fruit, lay it on - and, erm..." she paused for a moment, "...coffee. Lots of coffee."
The waitress' pen was moving faster than a sewing machine needle, capturing Liberty's order with such anarchic rapidity, it was a wonder she didn't set the paper on fire. Violently crossing a "t" and stabbing an "i", the waitress then turned to Harper.
"And for you, sir?"
Harper, still gawking at Liberty's order, stuttered a quick, "Toast...and tea, if you have any."
"No coffee?" asked the waitress.
"I'll take his coffee," interjected Liberty.
This seemed to satisfy the waitress; she scooped up their menus and bustled back into the kitchen. The two watched her disappear through the swinging kitchen doors. An awkward moment of silence befell them, and Harper stared down Liberty's liquid eyes.
"So," she said, scratching her crop of murky hair, "you wanna know why I'se drunk last night, and hung-ovah this mornin’."
"Well," Haper replied, an explanatory look on his face, "you're not a drinker...you said so yourself...so something must have happened to motivate you to be so sma—erm, drunk."
This brought a loud exhale from Liberty, her eyes becoming downcast under thick lashes.
"There was a reason..."
"Hot coffee!"
The military leader of a waitress had burst back into the conversation with her kamikaze coffeepot. She set down a chipped, grimy cup in front of Liberty and began to pour, steam rising from the pot as if it was smoke rising from a just-fired rifle.
"Grazie," murmured the blue-eyed Italian as she lifted the cup to her lips, cradling it carefully with both hands. She closed her eyes as she drank, and when they fluttered open, the waitress was gone.
"There was a reason," repeated Liberty as she reluctantly set down her new source of warmth. "Can I trust you?"
Can I trust you...a liar, a cheat, a pickpocket...can I trust you...
"Sure, you can trust me," Harper replied, forcing a reassuring smile. Liberty did not return it. Instead, she fired a question at him.
"Do you know who Nicky Andriola is?"
"No, love, can't say tha'tie do."
"Nicky Andriola is my brother. Do you know who Nickolas Valentino is?"
This time, there was no hesitation.
"Of course. Very first day I came here, he was in the papers. Big Mafia boss, down Brooklyn way, inherited everything from his father. But they can't get anything to stick on him."
Liberty nodded, then continued.
"They're the same person."
“Well,” Flash said, brushing her hands together with a smile. “I guess that really spiced things up this evenin’.”
“Jus’ be glad ‘e’s gone,” responded Blue Skies with a slight roll of her eyes. “Tah think I’d see the day when random boys from Midtown got stuck undah peoples’ bunkbeds…”
“Well it ain’t like we didn’t try an’ tell ‘im not to,” Imp responded. “He’s jus’ stupid like that.”
“He is,” Angel seconded. “He’s also lucky we got ‘im out.”
“So how was everyone’s day? Up ‘til Cole’s arrival, of course.” Skies pulled the binder off the end of her braid and began to undo the French braid in her thick black hair so she could tighten it.
“Fine. Borin’. Jus’ like it usually is,” Angel replied. She shrugged her thin shoulders and twirled a hair ribbon in her fingers. “Hey, anyone want a lemon drop?”
“Are yah like the fountain a’ candy ‘er somethin’, Bradshaw?” asked an incredulous Imp as Angel removed a small brown paper bag from her pocket. “I ain’t nevah seen yah come home wit’out sugah in yah pockets…”
Angel smiled. “I’se stuck on it, what can I say?” She opened the bag and held it out. “Anybody want one?”
“Sure,” Flash said, accepting one of the small yellow candies. She smiled and put it in her mouth. “It’s true, though,” she said around the lemon drop. “You’se always got somethin’ tah eat.”
“Speakin’ a’ eatin’—anyone seen Andriola runnin’ ‘round? She’s been hidin’ forevah, it seems. Every time I think I see ‘er, she’s gone an’ I think I must a’ been seein’ things.” Blue Skies snapped the binder back around her hair.
“She’s busy,” Flash answered with a shrug. “She’s got this kid she’s showin’ ‘round—but you knew that.”
“She’s sure spendin’ a lot a time on it,” Angel commented. “I’se hardly seen ‘er.”
“Yeah, well, whatevah, right?” Flash said quickly. “How ‘bout playin’ some cards?”
Harper sat there rather awe-struck.
"He killed him?" he asked, his eyes wide. Liberty sipped her coffee calmly, an expression on her face that was as serene as if she'd asked whether or not he took sugar in his coffee.
"Sí," she said quietly.
Liberty never thought she'd be speaking about it to another person, except maybe the saints when she prayed. But here and now, with this mysterious British boy, it was different. It was as if she was telling a tall tale, or relating a legend...and not her own gruesome history.
Harper sat back in his chair now, thinking things over.
He doesn't know what to say, Liberty thought to herself. He can't possibly know what to say. About my dead fiancé, my murderer of a brother. He hasn't lost someone like that. He just doesn't know what it's like. They never do…
Harper folded his hands carefully upon one another and rested them on the table. Liberty could see gears turning in his mind, as if his cunning brown eyes were windows to the inside of a huge clock. She couldn't help smiling.
Like Big Ben, she thought. Fitting. But her smile disappeared when she saw that he was obviously distraught; uncomfortable in his thoughts...whatever they were...
He cleared his throat softly, and then spoke.
"When I was a boy, my father meant the world to me. We used to go up to our cabin in Northern England and fish…every summer we did, first two weeks of April.”
“Great,” thought Liberty. “Some happy little childhood memory with a moral attached; a lesson learned.”
“Everything I did, I did for his approval. He loved me unconditionally.”
“Just shut up,” the thin Italian breathed to herself. “You don’t know what it’s like to have your trust so violated, so don’t pretend you do.”
“And then, when I was nine, my father was murdered.”
Liberty couldn’t help the coldness in her voice as she said, “Fantastic, but what doesn’t that have to do with me? Nothing.”
“By my mother,” he added.
Liberty dropped her coffee cup awkwardly. The hot, dark liquid splashed over the lip of the cup and onto her plate. She averted her eyes from his, suddenly embarrassed.
“I’m so…so very sorry,” she said honestly.
He didn’t seem to notice her sudden lack of grace, nor the small pond of coffee sitting where her eggs had been. He continued.
“I’ve never been so angry with someone. So filled with utter, unadulterated contempt,” he paused here, still ignoring her blunder and apology, to fill in the question marks in her bright eyes. “She put arsenic in his coffee.”
Suddenly, pieces began connecting together. That’s why he didn’t order coffee. That’s why he ignored her when she’d dropped her own. It brought back memories; painful ones.
“He was a good husband,” Harper said. “He worshipped her; never laid a hand on her unless it was out of love, faithful for the entire length of their marriage. But he had a quite large amount of money, my father did. All in his name, so mother couldn’t touch a cent of it without his permission. Yet…in the event of his death…she was the first benefactor. My mother, on the other side of things, was having an affair. But if she left my father, she’d have no money at all, and her over wasn’t the most financially endowed of people.” He smiled weakly at Liberty as if to say, “see?”.
“So, she killed him,” he finalized. The brown-eyed British boy shook his head solemnly and sighed, derailing from his thought for a moment.
“Money…money must be the singular most petty, ignorant reason for taking a human life,” he stated to his silverware, now neatly stacked on his empty plate.
Money… The word echoed through Liberty’s mind. Memories of a bold Italian accent in a bunkroom what seemed like so long ago. “For the first time in my life, I had money in my pockets, Libs. You know you can’t get by in this world without money. Money is everything.” But her thoughts were interrupted by Harper…probably a fortunate thing. He seemed to be back on topic.
“I’ve never hated someone so much. But yet, she was my mother and I just couldn’t make myself stop loving her. No one understands that…”
Liberty found her hand reaching across the table for his, but she jerked it back reflexively.
I do! her mind screamed. I understand! Oh, I understand! But, in true Liberty fashion, she kept stubbornly quiet when she most needed to speak.
“She was tried and jailed, of course. I wrote her a letter every week, relentlessly. And she responded every time, in her thin latticework of lacey handwriting. We wrote of many things, but never my father. It was almost as if…as if she was on a long vacation, and not prison. I looked forward to those weekly letters so much; like I anxiously awaited my father’s and my fishing trip every August.” He forced another water-weak smile, “and she always signed my letters with ‘much love…Mum.’ Half the time, I didn’t even remember that her real name was Constance.”
Liberty nodded numbly. Her heart wouldn’t let her do anything else, such as clutch his hand, or shower him with soft kisses, or stroke his hair and tell him if would be all right.
“A few months ago, she committed suicide in prison.” He seemed to hurry thought this part; if he lingered, he would be burned by scalding memories. “So I hopped a ship and came here. To…to start anew.”
She couldn’t help staring at his, suddenly curious as to why he was trusting her with such obviously painful information.
“Dear heart, my point is that…you can still love someone, even if you don’t forgive mistakes they’ve made in the past. Love and forgiveness don’t always have to go hand in hand, while love and hate can often exist side by side. You can still love your brother; you don’t have to guilt yourself into thinking that it’s wrong.”
“But…” Liberty opened her mouth to speak. That’s not what I’ve been doing, her mind said. You don’t know. Yet, her heart whispered something different. That was exactly what she had been doing.
“Honestly, Skies, I’m startin’ tah wondah.”
“Worry, or wondah?” inquired the black-haired leader of the Harlem newsgirls to her friend.
“Both,” Flash said with a frown on her lightly freckle-dusted face. “She comes in aftah I go tah bed…wakes up ‘fore I can see ‘er, an’ I wouldn’t know she was ‘round ‘cept ‘er stuff changes in its messiness.” She smiled a bit, though her forehead was wrinkled in concern. “An’ I’se tried stayin’ up fer ‘er—”
“But you’se a tired goil,” Blue Skies grinned and ruffled Flash’s tied-back hair. “An’ yah needs yah beauty sleep.”
“Hell if I do,” Flash sniffed. “I’se gorgeous t’rough an’ t’rough.”
“That’s why yah tag ‘round wit’ me,” Blue Skies smirked. “You’se hopin’ some a’ my fabulous good looks’ll weah off on yah.”
“Wrong again; you’se hopin’ the opposite’ll happen fah you!” Flash smiled triumphantly and sat back up, as she was getting a headache from hanging upside-down from her bunk to face her friend below her. “Whew, that’s a rush.”
“Yah was turnin’ kinda blue,” answered Blue Skies sagaciously.
“No surprise, neithah,” mumbled Flash. “I feel like my face is gonna ‘xplode.”
As can be seen, it was very difficult for Flash to stay on topic when the conversation involved something serious.
“Anyway,” Skies went on, “we was talkin’ ‘bout Libs…”
“Yeah. Libs. She’s nevah ‘round.” Flash pushed at her forehead, trying to tell it that she wasn’t upside-down anymore.
“Right. You wanna talk wit’ ‘er ‘bout it?”
“I—ah—” Not really. “Sure.”
“Great.”
“Now we’se jus’ gotta catch ‘er.”
“I’ll stay up an’ pinch yah if yah want,” grinned the Italian girl, her blue eyes laughing.
“Hmph. Guess that sounds good tah me, if that’s what it takes.”
It was quite cold for the season as Liberty sprinted through the streets of New York City. She watched the houses and the neighborhoods fly past, stopping only to take an occasional breath. She watched the houses go from poor tenements to middle-class apartments to, finally, the richer mansions of uptown Brooklyn. She counted numbers, breathing raggedly under her breath. Counting. Waiting. And then...there it was.
A sparkling mass of fresh blue paint and shining glass windows. A black wrought-iron staircase stood adoringly at the front of the house. Flower boxes sat, poised, outside the windows of both stories. It looked like something out of a nursery rhyme. A story book. A fairy tale.
Something it was not.
A facade.
Just like him.
Her hand was positioned above the doorknocker. She let is drop, apathetically. A loud "WHAM!" resounded.
She listened for movement throughout the huge house. There was nothing, even after several moments. Not a light, not a sound, not a thing.
Liberty turned away from the door. Why had she even come? This was insane. You don't just go for a year without talking to your own flesh and blood—shut them out of your life—and then expect to be—
"Miss Angelina? È quella voi? Miss Angelina?"
Liberty whirled around at the loud, old voice. "Mrs. Venchetti?
A creased, wrinkled face stared down at her from the doorway. A poof of tangled, silvery hair shot out from beneath the handkerchief trying desperately to hold back the disheveled mass. A faded pink robe had been slung over a thick, modest nightgown.
"Oh praise be to God! Miss Angelina—where have you been all this time? Eef I had-n't been in the kitchen, drinking my tea, I never would have heard you! Stowing away from us! Ohhhhh, Signore Nickolas will be soooo haa-ppy! Come heer child, come heer..."
And then Liberty raced up the front steps, stumbled once, and then fell into the old woman's arms.
It had taken a long few minutes to convince Mrs. Venchetti to let her go upstairs by herself, but Liberty had finally done it. And now, as she crept silently up the long, spiral staircase, she was a little afraid. Well, a lot afraid, really. A year does many things to people. A year—stop thinking about it, she told herself.
Third door on the left, Mrs. Venchetti had said. Third door on the left. Third door on the left. The blood pounded in her ears as she shoved it open. She immersed herself in the pitch-black darkness of the room, and shut the door. The latch clicked. And clicked again.
Wait, that's not the latch... she thought.
"Don't move a fucking muscle, amico..."
Liberty drew in a thick breath as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A young man was propped up in his elbow in the middle of a lavish bed. A gun was being gripped steadily in his right hand, the barrel aiming straight at Liberty. She caught the glimmer of a golden cross on his bare chest.
Her voice quivered. "Nicky?"
There was a pause, and then the sound of a gun un-cocking as the young man sprung forward, in only a pair of pants. "Angelina! Angelina, oh, my darling, my darling..." He crushed her against his chest, his strong arms encircling her roughly.
"Nicky...Nicky, that hurts..."
He pulled her out to arm’s length. "Sorry, mi cara...so sorry. My God, look at you—your hair is growing out; you've gotten a bit taller, I do believe..."
Liberty ran a self-conscious hand through her crop of hair. "Well yes, it...needs to be cut and..."
Then she noticed the woman that was pulling the sheets of the bed up around her.
"Oh—I'm...sorry...I didn't know, I just...thought that...I'll be going now..."
"No!" Nicky reached out and grasped her wrist, his voice cracking for the first time in years. "Angelina—Liberty, please...don't leave me again..."
She stared back at him; he looked shocked at the amount of emotion that had just come out of his mouth. "Erm..." he continued desperately, "you know Shannon..."
The girl sat up carefully, sheets still firmly wrapped around her. Blonde hair fell over her shoulders as she extended a hand.
"Venus Armstrong. From the Bronx. We've met."
Liberty blinked a few times, a bit taken aback as she reached forward and shook the young woman's hand. "Yes, we...have. It's been a long time."
"Has, hasn't it?"
"Yes...it has. Erm, Nicky, I should go.."
"No, no," he repeated. "Just let me—erm, put on a robe and..."
"No, really, I should...I should go. I don't know why I came here this late; I'll come back tomorrow...I promise. It won't be another year." She offered an uneasy smile.
Nicky scratched his head; dark slivers of hair falling down around his charismatic blue eyes. "You promise?"
She grinned up at him. "Promise."
"Attraversare il vostrac cuore e speranza morire?" he asked.
She smiled. "Attraversare il miei cuore e speranza morire."
He nodded, his own lips spreading into a grin.
"Nicky?" Venus asked sleepily as he closed the bedroom door almost fifteen minutes later.
"Shhh, mi cara..go back to sleep."
"You shouldn't have let her go all that way home tonight, Nicky...not by herself," Venus argued, turning over on her side to look up at him as he removed his robe.
"I didn't. I sent Joseph and the carriage with her."
"Oh...good..." she replied slowly, sleep wearing heavily on her.
He tossed his excess clothing on the back of a chair and crawled into bed next to her. "Now will you stop worrying?"
"I cert'nly will," she replied, turning back over.
"Hey, you know what..." he asked, dabbling kisses up her bare back.
"W'at?" she asked in a drowsy accent.
"I think you're going to make a great sister-in-law."
“How ‘bout some cards?” suggested Blue Skies, pulling a deck from her pocket. The two sat in the lobby of the Harlem newsgirls’ lodging house. Flash had wanted the roof, where they could overlook the fire escape, but Skies had been rather emphatic in her, “Absolutely no way in hell,” so they were in the lobby with their ears wide open.
“If yah suggestin’ pokah, please know that I ain’t as bad as that dolt yah call a boyfriend,” Flash responded, her brown eyes tired.
“We could jus’ play Go Fish,” the Italian shrugged petite shoulders. “No money ‘er nothin’, so the fact that you’se so tired that you’se fallin’ off yah chair an’ gonna go face-foist intah the coffee table any minute don’t get too important ‘er nothin’…”
“Ski-ies,” whimpered Flash, who realized that her eyelids were half closed. “Sure.” She accepted the cards that were dealt to her and looked at them. “Who’s first?”
“You, I guess,” Blue Skies said with a shrug.
“Oh.” She set down a pair of twos, a pair of fives, and a pair of Jacks. “Do you have a ten?”
Blue Skies narrowed her dark blue eyes and growled, “Yes,” slapping it onto the table in front of Flash.
“Thanks,” Flash said, setting down her only remaining card beside it. “How ‘bout we play again?”
“Let’s try a diff’rent game,” muttered Blue Skies, laughing just a bit. "How 'bout...erm..." her voice faded out as she happened to glance down at the street below. "Wat 'da 'ell?"
Flash turned around, looking behind her and over the edge of the roof. A carriage had stopped in front of the Harlem Newsgirl Lodging House.
Blue Skies joined her friend and co-leader at the edge of the roof as they both stared down. A dark haired girl was stepping out of the carriage and thanking the driver.
"Lib'rty," Blue muttered. "It's got to be almost one in the morning—wheah'd she find a carriage?"
"I dunno," Flash replied. They exchanged a glance, then raced downstairs.
"So ahhh...wheah you been?" asked Flash about two seconds after making a running-jump for the couch in the lobby. She landed only an instant before Liberty walked in the front door. Blue Skies leaned against the stair frame.
The dark-haired Italian turned around, shrugging as she made her way towards the stairs. "Visiting an old friend..."
Blue Skies nodded, and shot Flash a "see? Told-you-nothing-serious look" as she followed Liberty up the stairs, into the bunkroom. Flash watched both of them go, a bit speechless. Then she shook her head. Friends. Hah.
More to come...stay tuned!
