The early morning sunlight cut through the curtains, hitting me in the face. I squeezed my eyes shut and rolled over onto my stomach. Kloppman will be in here any minute, so I need to stay awake, I thought.

After a few minutes I realized that I was the only one in the bunkroom. In a rush, I jumped out of bed and threw on my clothes (which were boys' clothes furnished by several of the guys: Mush Meyers, Cheater Molloy, and Coaldust McGinty). I ran to the washroom, splashed my face with water, threw my hair up under my cap, and ran downstairs. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw everyone.

All the newsies were just sitting quietly in the lobby, hats off. Some were crying openly, some were staring straight ahead, some sat with their eyes queezed shut to hide their tears. Twiggy took me by the arm as I pulled off my cap.

"Dirk's dead," she whispered.

My heartbeat quickened as the news hit me. Dirk Galloway...I had met him and seen him around, but I didn't know him well. All that I knew about him was that he was a very likeable boy, fourteen years old, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He was one of those children who, if he had been much younger and in an orphanage, would have been the first to be adopted.

"When? How?" I asked her, still in a state of shock and disbelief.

"Last night. Stabbed..." she trailed off, then handed me the morning edition. "Heah's da story."

I studied the headline on the front page. It read, LOCAL CHILD FOUND DEAD: FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED. The article was very short, and read:

Early this morning, the body of a young boy identified as fourteen-year-old Joseph Galloway was found smothered and stabbed to death near the Brooklyn Bridge. Alongside his body was a pair of dice rolled to snake eyes.

I gasped. Snake Eyes? But why? I continued reading the article, my hands shaking enough to rattle the paper.

Galloway has no known living relatives, and resided at the newsboys' lodging house on Duane Street. Several of the children there have been questioned regarding Galloway's murder, and have provided the police with several leads that have not yet been made public.

Handing the paper back to Twiggy, I found somewhere to sit down and think things over. Marconi didn't seem like the murdering type... I thought. Suddenly, I began picking up bits and pieces of a conversation between Jack Kelly and Racetrack Higgins.

"Dey t'ink it's Snake Eyes Marconi. McCain's already been by dis mornin', wantin' ta see Monkey fer some reason 'er anudder. Said da bulls already ransacked her place, but dat Marconi's been gone fer several days. Ain't got woid from 'im at all. I dunno, Jack. I'm suspectin' Marconi myself," Race said quietly.

"Yeah, wid tha 'snake eyes' dice an' everyt'ing...I'd say, yeah, it prolly was Marconi. But I dunno why he'd just up an' kill da kid...I mean, dey din't even know each udda," Jack replied.

Race shrugged. "Well, unless anyone can prove othawise, I say Marconi. I mean, c'mon Jack, you know how strong da evidence is against 'im!"

Jack nodded. I sat there thinking over what they had just said. McCain's been by? Does she think that I told the authorities that Marconi did it? That has to be it. Why else would she come back for me? Quietly, I stood up and opened the front door, slipping outside. I was startled to see Skweeker sitting on the steps, smoking a cigarette.

"Monk...I know I was nasty an' all, but...I need yer help."

Looking at the expression on Skweeker's face, I knew that she hated admitting that she needed anyone's help, especially mine. "Why?"

"Th' bulls went t'rough my place dis mornin'. Said Marconi murdered some Galloway kid. D'ya t'ink he did it?" she asked me, searching my face, puffing her cigarette.

Feeling very uneasy, I shrugged. "I don't know, McCain. The evidence is strong, but...well, I really don't think he did it."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, cuz I can near guarantee ya dat ev'ry otha newsy in there t'inks he did it. I need somebody who don't t'ink he's guilty."

"Me," I said. "You want me. You know, Skweeker, I don't really understand you. One minute, you're paying Racetrack to take me away from you. The next, you're back at the lodging house on the brink of begging me to help you get your friend off the hook."

"Well, I t'ink I got da right ta change my mind."

"Only when it benefits you," I hissed at her.

"Yeah, I'll admit dat. But, c'mon, ya gotta help me! Please, Monkey," she pleaded.

Looking at her, I could tell that she was sincere. Skweeker really cared for Marconi; that much was apparent. Part of me wanted to help her, but part of me wanted to turn around and walk back into the lodging house. "How do you even know that he's innocent?"

"He's been gone since before this happened."

"Is that all you know?"

She nodded. "Do you think he's innocent?" I asked her.

Skweeker didn't answer. After much thought, I finally said, "But...he's innocent. He has to be."

Skweeker looked up at me and then back down at her feet, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and chewing on her lip. "He doesn't have ta be anything."

Ch. 14