Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

How Jack had the energy to carry Les piggyback up four flights of stairs to the Jacobs’ apartment at the end of the day, Davey would never know. What Jack knew was that Les helped keep him warm, especially after a cold, rainy day like this one. Warm wet was better than cold wet.

“You’re sure about this?” Jack asked for the thirty-eighth time, calling up the stairs to Davey. Davey didn’t even bother to answer by now. Jack kept going and finally followed Davey down the hall to what must be their door.

“Mama! We’re home!” Davey called, unlocking the door. He pulled off his cap and got his wet coat off as Jack stood in the hall, gently lowering Les from his back. Les squeezed around Jack and likewise pulled off his wet things. Davey held out his hand to Les and took their coats and hats to the rack by the stove to dry, greeting his mother with a hug. 

“Mama, we brought Jack, like you wanted,” Davey started in, turning to introduce Jack, and then glancing around quickly until he noticed Jack still standing in the hall. “You coming?” he called to Jack. “You came all this way, it’s just one more step.”

Jack shoved his frozen hands in his pockets and stepped stiffly into the apartment, wincing a little when Les squeezed around him again and slammed the door shut behind him. “Uh, hey,” he muttered. “How you doin’.” He didn’t miss the brief look Mrs. Jacobs gave Davey that clearly said Jack had already messed up.

“I, uh, I gotta get going, Dave, so I’ll see ya,” Jack said, barely audible. He backed toward the door, telling himself he hadn’t nearly sat at their table, or nearly dried out a little faster than usual in their warm apartment.

“No!” Les cried, pulling at Jack’s arm. “You promised! You said you’d stay! Mama, make him!”

By this time, Mrs. Jacobs had come across the room, her arm extended to usher him further into the apartment. “Come on in, Jack. Come dry out, hm? It’s so nice to finally meet you.” He let her touch the torn sleeve of his shirt and wished it was clean like Dave’s. He managed half a smile and took a step forward, daring to take off his cap like he was going to stay.

“David?!” Jack stopped at the sound of Mr. Jacobs’ voice coming from the bedroom directly across from him. “How was your day? Did I hear something about Jack finally coming?”

Davey grinned at Jack. “Yes, Papa! He’s here! You need help getting up?” Davey walked over to the bedroom door and peered in. “Let me help.” He went in briefly and Jack kept his eyes trained on the doorway. He squeezed his cap and felt water run through his fingers and drip onto the floor. An uneven gait slid across the bedroom floorboards, and Davey reappeared, supporting his father, a slightly stooped figure with wiry graying hair. 

Jack stared for what seemed like an eternity as his world ground to a halt, and what feeling had come back in his hands left him once again. He staggered backwards and yanked his cap back on as he gaped at Mr. Jacobs. He whirled back toward the door, but couldn’t get very far with Les standing there, and both of them tumbled to the floor. Jack flipped himself onto his back to make sure he knew where Mr. Jacobs was, and scrambled on his hands and heels over Les as fast as he could, Les’ yelps notwithstanding. People were talking, talking to him, coming at him, and he launched himself at the door. He fled down the stairs, leaping two or three at a time, barely keeping his balance, before flying back out into the rain turned sleet.

Chapter Text

1889

Jack’s head snapped back and he smashed into the brick wall next to him. A searing pain opened on his chin. He reached up and drew his hand away, sticky with blood.

“Don’t come back until you get what I told you, unless you want more,” Maggie threatened, towering over him, her hand raised. Her unwashed stench matched Jack’s, with the added smell of whiskey. “I’m sick of you coming up short. Got it?”

Jack nodded, putting his ragged sleeve up against his chin with one hand and wiping away tears with the other. He gulped as he watched her straighten up and tuck her gray hairs back under her kerchief.

She sucked at her partially-toothed gums and pointed a filthy finger at him. “Get going, or the new boy is getting your whole bed and dinner tonight.” Jack’s eyes widened in fear at the prospect of being back out on the street now that the nights were getting colder—just last night he’d brought back the boy called Racetrack, and he had been nice to whisper to in their bunk. He didn’t want to lose his new friend so quickly, that was for sure. He liked not being the youngest boy all by himself now, since Race seemed to be about his own age.

Jack staggered out of the alley and eventually made his way to the immigrant crowds coming from Castle Garden. Easy pickings, they always said. Don’t know much English, willing to get help from anyone, even a little kid, and they likely got at least a little money in their pockets to get started on. 

As his head cleared, Jack dodged in and out of the shuffling families trying to find their way, and flitted his hands in and out of a dozen pockets before snagging a wad of bills. Quickly he shoved the wad into his pocket, and moved on. He got another good snag, and he was sure he had enough. He dabbed at his chin again, and smeared at his face to get the last of the tears off. One last glance around, and he stopped cold. Papa? The man six feet away had Jack’s same dark curls, and the gait seemed about right, at least from Jack’s vantage point.

He raced over and grabbed the man’s hand. “Papa!” he shouted. “It’s me!” He grinned up at him until the man looked down, startled. It wasn’t his father, not by a long shot. The face was narrower, the dark brown eyes kinder, and he clearly didn’t recognize Jack. The man’s eyebrows drew together in concern as he took in Jack’s face, but was quickly replaced with one of fear.

The man shook him off and looked around, panicked. “Dawid!” the man called sharply. “Dawid?!”

A slightly taller boy ran up to him and took his hand, speaking a language Jack didn’t recognize. The man’s eyes closed in relief and he tightened his grip on his son’s hand. Jack stumbled back, jostled by the crowd, and watched. A streak of jealousy ripped through him as the father cupped Dawid’s face and smiled before they turned to walk in the other direction. Jack felt more tears build up and drip down his face, and he gave up wiping them away. He watched the man follow his son to a cart where a smiling woman waited, and felt a white hot heat rise up in him as the woman hugged them both.

“I hate you!” Jack shouted, stamping his bare foot at them. No one noticed or heard him, one small boy in the teeming crowd. “I hate you!”

Jack angrily turned away from them and plowed back into the river of people, stopping only when he saw Race working the crowd not too far away. Race winked at him and motioned with his head for Jack to wait around the nearby corner. Sniffling, Jack gave him a wave and headed over there to wait. He slumped down to the ground and wiped his nose on his sleeve, hoping Race wouldn’t be too long. Sure enough, Race came sauntering over with a smug look on his face and slid down next to Jack.

“Guess what,” Race said, barely able to contain himself.

“What,” Jack muttered back.

“I got enough for Maggie and I got a gold watch,” Race whispered, his eyes sparkling. “We can get some boots and jackets, you and me. Right now.”

Jack lifted his head and smiled, wincing at the throbbing on his chin. “Yeah?”

Race nodded smartly. “Yeah. Let’s go.” He put his arm around Jack. “You and me don’t need nobody, right?”

“Right.” Jack let Race pull him up, and off they went together.

Chapter Text

Jack laid awake, listening hard since it was his turn to keep watch, and kept his hands tight on the lapels of Race’s coat as Race slept. Another floorboard creaked, and Jack sucked in his breath. It had been four days since the bigger boys last tried to take their coats, a feat they’d tried every few days ever since Race had stolen the gold watch and gotten himself and Jack outfitted for winter. The coats had been too nice, as Jack and Race soon discovered. Even after a couple of months of bigger kids pulling at them, ripping the seams and pulling at the buttons, the coats were still in better shape than most, and still worth plenty.

Jack shook Race to get him awake, and just in time, as he felt the hands of boys twice his age yank him out of bed. Jack kicked and yelled as hard as he could, as usual, but something was off this time. He could hear Race grunting and twisting to try to escape, but he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Jack’s head smacked against the floor, and he lay there, stunned, and could only reach feebly for his coat as the older boys took it off, gleeful at their success.

“Get the boots next, boys!” he heard someone shout. Jack kicked, and kicked hard, somehow able to move himself away. Race was suddenly there by his side and grabbed for him, pulling him up. Jack felt a heavy hand swipe down his back, but he didn’t turn to look. He grabbed back at Race and they managed to get away just enough to get to the door.

”Run!” Race gasped into his ear, and they took off, hoping the laughter and jeers coming from behind them would be the last they would hear from Maggie’s, ever.

#

Race scanned the busy street. “Gotta find someone having an argument,” he said to Jack. “Then they’s distracted.” Jack nodded in agreement, hoping for better luck today. It was Race’s day to wear the coat remaining between the two of them, but they couldn’t keep going like this. Jack’s teeth chattered, and he jumped in place, rubbing his arms and taking in the shouts from the pushcarts that filled the street in front of them. His ears hurt whenever the wind swept around the corner, no matter how much he rubbed at them.

“There,” said Race, pointing with his chin. “Look there.” Jack saw what he meant, and exchanged a knowing look with Race.

“You distracting or you taking,” Jack asked. He blinked hard as another gust of wind hit them. It didn’t matter to him which role Race took—Race was good at both.

“Distracting,” said Race. “You just slip it on and can’t no one tell if you stole it or not.” Jack nodded. That made sense.

“Coats! Pants!” yelled the boy selling at the pushcart with his father. “Good clothes! Good prices!” His father was talking with a sour-faced man, using both his voice and his hands, and wasn’t paying any attention to his pushcart. Race and Jack strolled across the street and lingered a short distance to gauge the situation, and pretended to be interested in the tin cups and plates for sale at the cart they stood in front of. The men’s voices rose, which was good. Jack’s stomach roared and he almost called off this idea in favor of scouting out some carts with food, but the wind cut at his face again, making his eyes water. He wiped the tears from his eyes and watched the argument escalate.

”Dawid,” the man called. “Come.” He motioned for his son to come closer, and he pointed at the sour-faced man, obviously asking the boy to translate. Jack tried to see this boy more clearly through his watering eyes, but lots of boys were named David or something close to it. 

David stood by his father and listened to him, his back to Jack. He faced the angry man his father had been speaking to, and took in a breath. “We have money. We sell everything today, we have money for rent,” he told the man. “Tonight.”

His father looked hopefully at the sour man. Jack elbowed Race and they snuck closer to the cart just as the man started yelling again and David started translating again. The cart didn’t have coats as nice as what Race had gotten them, but they were a lot better than nothing. Race went to the other side of the cart and started fingering some patched up pants, just in case the argument stopped sooner than expected.

“We have it,” David said, more loudly. “My father said we stay and we sell today and tonight. We have money tonight.”

Jack scouted out the jackets as best he could, and finally gave up and quickly reached for the one closest to him. No sooner had he slipped an arm into the sleeve, oh, the warm sleeve, than he was lifted by the hair and had his other arm twisted behind his back.

“You’re paying for that, ain’t you?” a voice asked loudly. Jack squirmed, to no avail, and found himself pushed right in front of David’s father. The father turned from his argument and looked at Jack, puzzled, before his eyes widened at the sight of the cop. Jack’s eyes widened at the sight of the man from Castle Garden. Not his papa.

“Look what I caught,” said the cop, giving Jack another shove. “Caught him red-handed, mister. You want me to take him in?”

Jack gulped and pulled hard to try to escape the iron grip of the cop until David’s father put up his hand to signal Jack to stop struggling. Jack peered up at him with hope, and David’s father reached toward the scar on his chin. He didn’t touch it, but he looked closely at Jack’s face, and his eyes softened. 

Jack risked a quick look at Race, who snatched a pair of pants. “Got ‘em!” Race shouted.

“Hey!” shouted the cop. “Stop!” He took a step forward, dragging Jack with him, before stopping, realizing he still had a hold of Jack.

David, still facing away from his father and Jack, switched his attention from the sour man to Race and pushed toward Race. Race smirked and instantly fled down the street away from Jack, and David gave chase. Jack tried to watch but there were too many people in the way, but he knew there was no way this David would catch Race. No one could catch him.

“Well?!” shouted the sour man. “You selling your stuff or giving it away? I want my money!”

David’s father pulled in his lips and closed his eyes. He opened his eyes and held out his hand to Jack. “Coat,” he said softly. The cop pulled the coat off of Jack’s arm and handed it back.

“Off to the Refuge with you,” the cop grinned, shaking Jack. “A nice report for me to file for the day. Glad to be of service, sir.”

David’s father smiled back a little, his face blank of understanding as he bowed slightly toward the cop in a silent gesture of goodwill. Jack started struggling again—he had heard lots of the other boys talking about the Refuge and knew he did not want to go there. It was worse than Maggie’s, the older boys had said, their eyes lighting up as Jack tried not to wet himself listening to their stories. Maggie’s a goddam dream girl, they said, showing off their scars and enjoying the sight of blood draining from Jack’s face. His heart pounded and he pulled again, succeeding only in tearing his shirt even more.

Jack tried again to wrench his arm as the cop pulled him away. “No! I won’t! I didn’t do nothing!”

David’s father watched them with growing shock registering on his face, but he stayed at his cart, keeping half of his attention on two women who had stopped to look at his merchandise.

“I hate you!” Jack shouted back at him. His voice disappeared into the clamor of the street as the cop dragged him along. “I hate you!”

Chapter Text

A Few Years Later

Jack pushed back through the line and charged the counter, his face red hot. “You gave me ninety-five, Morris! Gimme my other five!” 

Morris snickered. “You saying I’m cheating?”

Jack grabbed the bars. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Morris’ face matched Jack’s in redness as the newsies started to laugh at him. “Beat it, Kelly.”

“Gimme my five or come out and count ‘em. Unless you can’t count that high ...” Jack taunted. He was ready, oh, he was ready. He hadn’t had a good fight in probably five days. Tossing his bag to the ground, he motioned for Morris to come out. “Let’s go. Less you’s scared.”

The other newsies all watched Morris, the level of murmuring rising steadily and quickly. The start of this particular late fall day promised a decent amount of excitement—Jack Kelly always put on a good show. Three bouts in the Refuge over the past few years had exposed Jack as the best fighter his age and maybe even older, depending on who you asked, and Jack liked nothing better than to prove it again and again. Jack wouldn’t say he was the best, either, necessarily. He’d say he just got tired of getting his ass kicked by the bigger boys in the Refuge, and decided to change things. He got so good even Snyder had noticed and set up fights for the entertainment of his guests. The thing was, while Jack was a good fighter, he didn’t always listen. He liked winning better.

I lost money on you, Kelly, Snyder’s voice snarled. The guards propped Jack up in front of Snyder’s desk. You were supposed to lose, I told you that. Jack knew that—two days of no rations or sleep before the fight had reminded him. You made me look like a fool, Kelly. Jack had rolled his head forward at that. I like to win, Snyder. So do I, Kelly. If you’d a listened, you’d be out next week. Looks like you just got yourself three more months.

Morris glared at the newsies and stormed out from behind the counter. “You’re on.”

Jack grinned. Morris wasn’t bad, but Jack was better. Jack landed several good hits and took a few, including the last one that spun him around and landed him face-first on the ground. The cheering dulled a little. Shaking his head, Jack spat out a mouthful of blood and staggered to his feet again as the cheering resumed. His vision was a little blurred, but he could see Morris well enough to smack him around until Morris sprawled at his feet and surrendered. Jack spat again, and left him there to collect his five papes.

#

Jack waited for Race at their usual corner at the end of the day. Jack was almost always there first, even if he sold twice as many papes as Race ever did, although Race probably made more money at the racetrack. He grabbed the strap of his newsie bag and propped the sole of his left foot up on the wall, watching the setting sun glow on the upper stories of the buildings on the block. Bored, he examined his knuckles and flexed his right hand before reaching up to probe his newly blackened eye. Nothing that wouldn’t heal pretty soon.

Hearing footsteps come up behind him in the alley, he squinted into the dim light and shouted, “Got a new cigar for me, Racer? I earned it today!”

“No, ya didn’t,” came back the familiar voice of Morris Delancey. Oscar darted ahead and grabbed Jack before he could run, and Jack knew this wouldn’t end so good. Not as good as this morning, anyway. And it didn’t.

#

“Hey, you are okay?” a man’s voice asked quietly. Jack blinked his eyes slowly and jerked back against the brick wall. “You are hurt.”

Jack scrambled away and tried to clear his head. “‘M fine. Lea’ me ‘lone.” Where was Race? He saw the silhouette of the man who had spoken. Not a big guy, not coming at him. Jack stopped moving.

“Let me help.” The man gestured for him to follow him out of the alley and into the dim glow of the streetlight. Jack looked him over once more, taken for a moment by the man’s build and gait. Not his papa. Jack’s stomach sank, his head throbbed, but he followed for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

The man smiled at him and tilted Jack’s face toward the light. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the scar on Jack’s jaw, and he shook his head, smiling even more as he took a closer look at Jack. “I know you,” he said. “Come home. We will help.”

Jack stopped and scowled. This man had never helped him. Not once. Jack had learned to take care of himself, thanks. Race could patch him up just as good, he was pretty sure. Jack lifted his chin. “Leave me alone. I don’t need nothing.”

The man reached for him. “Please. I help you.”

Jack pushed at him, running his hand under his nose and bracing his feet, if a little unsteadily. “I said I’m good.”

He watched the man’s hands carefully as the man reached into his pocket. “You need money. Doctor? Food?” The man held out some bills to Jack.

“I got money.” Jack reached into his own pockets, wincing at the realization that they were empty. “Go away. I don’t need nothing.”

The man pushed the bills at him again, and again Jack shoved back at him. “Leave me alone, I said!” he shouted. Nothing good had ever happened with this guy.

“Take money!” the man shouted. “I leave you alone!”

A whistle sounded from the corner and Jack froze. Instinctively, he grabbed the money and took off down the alley, only to lose his balance and crash against the wall. He heard shouting behind him and tried to get up, but he couldn’t tell which way was up, and didn’t understand he was upright until the cop had him cuffed and dragged back out of the alley. The man was shouting still, but Jack couldn’t make out anything he was saying. It wasn’t English, or was it? The cop didn’t seem to care, and all Jack knew was that Snyder would expect to be making money betting on him again.

Chapter Text

Mayer slowly pulled his battered cart up to the tall gates. He was proud to be this successful, and to have brought enough business to his boss to have to make deliveries after hours, but he did wish this Mr. Snyder had been a little more polite. But, no matter. He paid well and appreciated good tailoring. Mayer came to a stop and double checked the address. This was it. It was no home, though. Well, who was he to judge where the man wanted his clothes delivered. He rang the bell and waited.

At long last, a guard of some kind came to the gate and let him in, saying Mr. Snyder was eager to see him. Well, Mayer was eager to see him too, then. He followed the guard in and set his cart by the door, and waited as instructed to be let inside. The Refuge, he read on the sign over the door. This was not a word he had learned yet. But clearly many people lived here, or Mr. Snyder lived in a warehouse? Again, who was he to judge.

Another guard finally came to let him in, right as his arms started to burn with the weight of the clothes he held. Rather bleak inside, but then they turned into the office space of Mr. Snyder, and Mayer finally saw the connection between the clothes he had made and the space they would be worn in.

“Ah, Mr. Jacobs, welcome!” thundered Snyder. He gestured for Mayer to put the clothes on the nearby sofa. “Wonderful.” He fingered the jacket on top of the pile. “Shall I try one on?”

“Please,” urged Mayer, “please.” He helped Snyder off with his old jacket and held the new one up, slipping it over Snyder’s shoulders with a practiced grace. “How does it feel?”

“This is perfect,” smiled Snyder. He gestured for Mayer to sit in the chair by his desk. “Let me pay you the balance.” Mayer tried not to look too eager, but this one payment would make Esther so proud of him, and his success. If Snyder had friends who would place orders like these, why, Mayer could move them to a better apartment, something his Esther could be proud to call her home. He could have his own store, instead of being an assistant. Dawid could go to a better school. Les would never know anything different than the very best education.

Snyder paused, hand in his desk. He smiled again, his teeth glittering. “I’m having some friends over this evening. Perhaps you’d like to meet them? They might give you quite a bit of business. Can you stay?”

“Stay? Yes, I can stay,” said Mayer, not quite believing he had understood correctly. “You show them my clothes?” 

Snyder chuckled. “Of course. Let’s go get settled, hm? I have it all arranged. You look like you could use some entertainment.” Snyder stood and admired himself in the mirror in the corner of the room before ushering Mayer through the door and down the hall. The room they stopped in was a strange one. Mayer gaped at the long wooden benches and tables shoved out of the way, and the rows of padded chairs ringing an open space. Drinks were set up nearby, and men smoking cigars had already made themselves at home with their filled glasses. Snyder walked Mayer around with introductions, and soon Mayer found himself seated with a drink and cigar of his own. Well, he was not one to turn down luxuries like this, although Esther might have a word or two to say about it.

He smiled at the men nearby, trying his best to keep up with the conversations, but soon found it was going by too fast. They didn’t seem to mind, and had admired the jacket Snyder had shown off, so Mayer felt good that more business might be coming his way. He looked around more closely, noting the stains and chalked outline on the wooden floor in front of him. Snyder soon stood in front of them all and spoke, but Mayer did not quite follow what he was saying other than it was a welcome and an event was about to start.

The men around him whistled and cheered and Mayer followed their attention to the door, where a boy of about sixteen was being led out to the square. He was handcuffed, and Mayer’s stomach turned cold. He prayed this was not what he thought it would be. The door opened a second time and Mayer nearly vomited. It was the boy. The boy who he’d gotten arrested twice now, who had broken Mayer’s heart several months ago. The handcuffs clinked behind the boy’s back and Mayer’s eyes widened at the size difference between the boys, although the smaller boy did not seem fazed.

The boy turned around for the handcuffs to be removed and brought his wrists around front to rub them. The guard who brought him in yanked off the boy’s unbuttoned shirt, leaving him in a only ragged pair of short pants. His left hand had a dingy bandage wrapped around the palm, and he had a barely healed cut above his left eye. Mayer watched him roll his shoulder and size up his opponent. Before Mayer knew it, a bell clanged from out of nowhere, and the boys started circling each other.

Mayer had never cared for boxing. Life was violent enough without it. But he understood how he must fit in to gain the business of these men. Still, he could not bring himself to cheer or laugh like they did as the boys fought and fell and bled. He silently prayed for both of them, but especially for the smaller boy. He could not imagine his Dawid being forced to do this—his Dawid who was at home, studying. His tiny Les, playing with the little blocks with Hebrew letters on them.

The older boy in the ring fell and skidded to Mayer’s feet, and the younger boy towered over him, breathing hard and smiling hard despite the blood coming from his mouth. He glanced briefly at Mayer, and Mayer held his gaze. The boy’s eyes narrowed with hatred, with recognition and cold hatred. After a moment, the older boy had gotten up and they had been pushed back to their corners to start another round. Again and again the smaller boy laid the older one out, each time at Mayer’s feet, each time meeting his eyes with hate, or was it desperation the one time? And then it was over. The smaller boy’s arm was raised in sweaty, bloody victory. His cut had reopened, and his bandage was soaked with fresh blood, but he made sure Mayer saw him standing there, victorious.

The older boy was dragged away, and the men surrounded the younger one, slapping his back and handing him drinks and cigars. Others started collecting money from Snyder and those who had also lost their bets. Mayer smiled and spoke a little to the men on the edge of the crowd, but eventually slipped around to the exit with them without having to face the boy. Guilt was a heavy coat. He wanted nothing more than to get home and forget this ever happened, and he breathed in the cold night air with relief when he stepped outside. Picking up his cart, he stopped. His money. Snyder hadn’t finished paying him yet.

Sighing, Mayer put the cart back down looked back at the building, and smiled politely at the last of the crowd leaving the building as he worked his way back in. He walked swiftly to the office just down the hall, and raised his hand to knock when he heard voices. A voice.

“...think you’re trying to prove, boy,” Snyder growled. “Well? Answer me!” Mayer listened to the silence, jumping at the sound of a loud slap. Mayer knocked and opened the door before he thought any more about it. The boy stood in front of Snyder and they both turned, startled, as Mayer strode in. The boy looked like he was ready to cry with relief, but schooled his face into defiance when he saw who it was.

“I am sorry, Mr. Snyder,” said Mayer softly. “My pay? Please?” 

Snyder transformed his face into something like a smile. “Of course. How forgetful of me.” He went around to his desk drawer and pulled out the money, handing it to Mayer. “You made a good impression this evening. Good night.”

Mayer took the money, trying to ignore the creeping disgust rising up his throat. “Thank you. Good night.” He looked once more at the boy, who now stared straight ahead. “You fight well,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

The boy didn’t move. Mayer backed out of the room, closing the door quickly, but not before another slap echoed into the hall. Mayer fled.

Chapter Text

A Few Years Later

“Race, I found him,” Jack leaned out the window of the lodge conspiratorially. “That guy.”

Race raised his eyebrows. “Right. Him.” He took a long drag on his cigar and leaned against the side of the fire escape. “Who?”

Jack climbed out, shut the window, and crouched in front of Race, his face alight. “The guy! I figure we bring the fellas some of the good stuff, you know? It don’t even gotta be clothes that are done. It can be just the cloth, right, and the guys can use it for blankets. It’s gonna get cold soon. We gotta do something. I just about lost my fingers last time I was in there if it wasn’t for the fights to keep me warm.”

“Sure, but you get caught and you get thrown in there with them. Again. You’s old enough now Snyder’s gonna bring in some goons to knock your brains out this time. You’s a dumbass, Kelly. You wanna keep ‘em warm? I’ll get some cigars for ‘em.” Race offered Jack his cigar, which Jack waved off.

“I ain’t gonna get caught. And I ain’t afraid of no goon Snyder drags in there. I’ll win.” Jack huffed like he was insulted by Race’s doubts, even though Race was the only person in the world who knew Jack was terrified of the kinds of guys Snyder made him fight. Terrified of Snyder, period. Jack had cried for weeks in their bunk after he got out the last time, silently soaking Race’s shirt and letting Race rub his arms and back under their blanket.

“So, you gonna help?” Jack asked hopefully. “We can get more that way. And that asshole who got me arrested and then come watch me fight will get what’s coming to him, too. He come a bunch of times, every time he made something for Snyder.” Jack rubbed his scarred hands together. He’d made sure this guy had paid attention at his fights, practically throwing his opponents into his lap. But the guy never cheered, never congratulated him or handed him a drink afterwards. Probably thought Jack should lose. Probably was glad when he saw Jack’s growing collection of scars.

Race considered, then nodded. “Sure. When?”

“Tomorrow. When we’s done with the morning papes.”

“You taking or distracting?”

Jack grinned. “Taking. I want him to know it’s me. Just go light up somewhere so they gotta go over and tell you to stop, right? They don’t want you setting the whole place on fire. I’ll load up and get out the back and you just make an asshole of yourself till I’m gone. Easy.” 

Race shrugged. “Easy. I’m a good asshole. You sure you don’t wanna just go break in now when it’s dark?”

Jack shook his head. “What’d I just say? I want him to know it’s me.”

“Suit yourself. Some bull comes in, though, I don’t know you, right?”

“You’s always been a coward,” said Jack. “But okay.”

#

Jack loitered outside the tailor’s and waited for Race. He’d passed by a few times already to make sure that guy was in there, and he was. Bloodthirsty animal, coming to so many fights. Well, a lot of those guys came to a lot of fights, but none of them had let Jack get arrested too. But Race was right, Jack thought uneasily. Jack had grown somewhat—his shoulders had broadened, his voice was deeper—Snyder would probably get some thug in there who’d beat the daylights out of him no matter how hard Jack fought. And if the thug didn’t beat the daylights out of him, Snyder would. His stomach turned at the thought. He wouldn’t win all of those fights, for sure. Even when he did win, which was a lot, the glory of winning had long left, even if he did have quite the reputation among the newsies. Well, he just wouldn’t get caught anymore, is all. He’d go in this place and show this guy that he hadn’t beat Jack, and never would.

Race finally came strolling up and winked at Jack from across the street. Jack waited a beat before going in, and lingered by the coats for a moment to scope out the store. Jack knew it was kind of a nice place, but he didn’t think it was this nice. He knew he didn’t fit in; he’d be pegged as not-a-customer right away. He tugged at the rope he’d found to keep his pants up and rolled up his one sleeve that was missing the cuff. 

The boss was across the store, standing behind a man, taking measurements and comparing different types of cloth, it looked like. The assistant had come out from the back at the sound of the bell when Jack had entered, and slowed as he eyed him. Jack stared him down, and after a second, the assistant smiled at him. Jack didn’t feel much like smiling, and slowly reached for a coat.

Just as the assistant opened his mouth and started to speak, Race came in, loudly walking away from Jack and making a show of lighting up on the other side if the store, near the boss. Jack pretended to ignore him, and waited until the owner rushed over and stared berating Race to put out his cigar. Jack kept his eyes locked on the assistant and scooped up some more coats with a grin. The man stood stock still and watched Jack saunter behind the counter to grab a bolt or two of cloth. Jack waited for him to start shouting, to call the cops. Instead, the man pointed with his head for Jack to go out the back door.

Stunned, Jack paused and looked back behind the man, checking for a trap. The yelling had continued on the other side of the store, but it was too late before Jack realized it was Race yelling at him, not the owner yelling at Race. Too late, Jack turned to see what Race was yelling about, and to see Snyder striding over to him from the corner where he had been getting measured. 

Jack gripped the coats and cloth as he raced for the back exit, clawing his way over the counter. He turned for a second to see where Snyder was, and stopped, shocked to see the assistant blocking Snyder’s path.

“Move, tailor,” Snyder murmured quietly. “You don’t want to get the way of a lawful arrest. Move aside.”

The assistant stood his ground. “I’ll get the coats back. Let the boy go.” Jack’s jaw dropped, and he stood still in amazement, watching Snyder fume at being stuck.

“Fine,” said Snyder, his voice just above a whisper. “I’ll arrest you, then, for obstructing justice.” He reached for the assistant, who drew back towards Jack.

“No, please,” the assistant begged. “I have a family. I have children. They need me. I am opening my own store soon.”

“Then give me the boy,” Snyder smiled, “and we have no problem.”

Jack stumbled backwards, knowing full well Snyder had won, and dropped the coats and cloth, but not before he saw the assistant step aside to let Snyder through. Snyder lunged for Jack and pinned him against the far wall, and twisted Jack’s arm behind his back. “Red-handed, boy,” Snyder breathed gleefully. Jack grunted and struggled, but could not move. He heard the jingle of the front door as Race bolted out to the street.

The boss pushed the assistant to face him in the doorway. “You would let the boy steal? You said nothing! I have helped you! I gave you this job! I helped you find your own store next month! This is your thanks?” The assistant let forth a rush of Yiddish, nearly in tears.

“No!” the boss continued shouting. “You are fired! Leave, now!” He pointed at the door. Jack twisted around and watched the assistant leave, still pleading. Well, even if Jack got himself arrested again, at least this guy wouldn’t be coming to watch him fight. 

#

Jack shook out his arms after the cuffs had been released, and took stock of his opponent. He could beat this guy, couldn’t he? Sure. But this guy was no kid. His meaty hands, scarred torso, and bludgeoned face spoke of a hundred fights that used more than fists. The bell clanged, and Jack swallowed, circling, trying to figure out how to make any kind of impact. It didn’t matter. His opponent charged, and no matter how much Jack dodged, feinted, and tried to wear him out, Jack found himself on the ground again and again getting kicked to shit. Snyder hadn’t allowed kicking before. It didn’t take long for Jack to lose, just like Snyder had told him to. Blood poured down his face, and Jack concentrated on surviving until it was over. Jack had finally learned to listen, and the tailor’s assistant wasn’t there to see it. 

Chapter Text

Jack lined up with the older boys, his hands clasped behind him, as Snyder began his inspection before the governor came the next day. Sweat rolled down Jack’s neck and soaked his shirt. His hair still lay damp against his forehead in the stifling evening heat, which gave no respite after the day of work.

Slowly, Snyder walked down the row of bunks, eyeing each boy to make sure they didn’t dare make eye contact. All except one looked down, a small, dark-haired boy with olive skin. Snyder stopped, and Jack watched nervously as Snyder tapped his rattan cane lightly on his own left palm.

“Looking at something?” Snyder asked slowly and softly.

Romeo shook his head, still staring at Snyder. Stupid new kid, thought Jack. He tried to catch Romeo’s attention with his eyes, but Romeo just stared, transfixed, at Snyder.

“Hands,” said Snyder. Romeo held out his hands, palms up, shaking. Jack couldn’t take the terrified look in the boy’s eyes, and broke the line. He swiftly stepped down the room and stood between Snyder and Romeo.

“Mr. Snyder, he’s new. He don’t know. Lemme teach him,” Jack begged. “He won’t do nothing like that again.” He squinted through his one good eye and held his breath as the silence ballooned through the room.

Snyder turned his gaze to Jack. “Romeo, disrespectful boys must be taught manners. Jack here knows his manners, don’t you.”

Jack felt himself start to sweat even more. His ragged shirt already bore the sweat stains of the past summer, where Snyder had started a new venture of renting the older boys out to hard labor jobs at the adult prisons. Between that and the fights, Jack was profitable to be sure.

“Yessir.”

“Hands.”

Jack held out his cracked, calloused hands and closed his eyes. Five sharp blows fell one after the other across his palms, each one a burning line of pain rivaled only by the cane marks on his back from the previous week. He pressed his heels down and strained his neck. He would not cry. He would not. He heard Snyder move on and Romeo sniffle behind him, and he gradually lowered his hands, now stiff and throbbing and on fire. Meeting his quota the next day would never happen now, and that brought consequences too. He’d do anything for a day without new pain.

#

Jack slid out the back of Roosevelt’s carriage and scrambled behind a pile of trash in a nearby alley. His breathing slowed from gasps to regular heaving to gulps to big breaths. He examined his hands, marked with five angry lashes, and tried to bend his fingers, succeeding only minimally. Race would have to spot him a few days until Jack could last the day holding papes. Race would do that, he knew. But it’d be nice if Jack could make an effort to make it easier for Race. Jack wiped his curls back and peered out into the noisy street, cluttered with pushcarts and traffic and people shouting.

A cart had stopped about a block away, with fancy lettering on the side. “Silverman’s Fruit and Vegetables,” it said. The mule pulling it stood limply in place as the delivery men jumped down from the seat and started hauling boxes into the grocery store. Jack slipped down the sidewalk, trying hard to get his fingers to move just a little more, and managed to tuck in his mostly buttonless shirt to form a pocket of sorts.

He waited for the delivery men to start their second trip, and jogged to the side of the cart. Quickly he stuffed some loose apples and a head of cabbage into his shirt. The driver didn’t even turn around, so Jack helped himself to his own apple even though the delivery men were on their way back outside. Jack swallowed hard. Not his papa. He was dirty and tired, but it was him. He saw Jack, and his eyes immediately saw Jack’s stash in his shirt, and he closed his eyes. The other delivery man pointed and shouted, and the familiar sound of a cop’s whistle sounded from in front of the cart. Jack threw his apple core just as the cop blew his whistle in the mule’s ear, but there was no way to get rid of the rest of the evidence tucked in his shirt. The cop kept coming, and Jack paused for a second. He would not get arrested, not ever again. The mule backed up, startled by the whistle, and turned the cart so that Jack could not back way from the oncoming cop.

Jack glanced back at the advancing delivery men. The one who had sent him to jail. Who had never given him a drink after Jack had won yet another fight. The one who stepped out of Snyder’s way in the tailor’s shop. Clenching his jaw, he forced his hands to grip the man’s shirt and threw him between himself and the cop, just as the delivery cart began to topple over.

Jack leapt away and ran and ran and ran. He heard men screaming and more whistles, but he didn’t dare look back.

Chapter Text

Jack threw himself on the wet roof, swung his legs under the railing, and leaned forward to rest his head on his forearms. Cold drizzle coated the back of his neck. He heard Race come up after him, but didn’t move.

“Thought you was having some fancy dinner at Dave’s,” murmured Race as he settled next to Jack. “Free food couldn’t a been that bad.”

Jack didn’t reply.

“What? They throw you out? What’d you say? You was fuckin rude, wasn’t you.”

Jack’s shoulders began to shake. 

Race put his arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Jackie, it’s me. Say something.”

“It’s him,” Jack shuddered out at long last. “Davey’s papa. The guy who got me arrested all those times. The one I shoved under the delivery cart when I escaped.”

Race let out a low whistle. “You hurt Dave’s father? Dave’s working with us because of you?”

Jack nodded miserably at the railing.

“What’d he say? He call the cops?”

“I run before he said anything.”

“Well, now you’s really guilty. He’s gonna send the cops here tonight, Jackie. You better find someplace else to stay for a while.” Race tapped Jack on the shoulder and got up. “Get going. You hurry up and maybe you can find a dry spot somewheres. Try Maggie’s old place.”

Jack pressed his lips together. He knew Race was right. He wiped at his nose with his sleeve and took Race’s wet hand to get up. The window below them squeaked open and Specs’ face peered out.

“Race, didja find Jack? He up there?” Specs shouted. “Dave’s here looking for him.”

“Nah,” Race shouted. “He ain’t here.” The window squeaked shut. “Get going, Jack,” he whispered. “I’ll talk to Dave for a minute and you get outta here.”

Jack nodded. “Come find me at Maggie’s. Two days, yeah? And bring some food.”

Race smiled at him. “You got it. Now beat it.”

#

Jack slumped in the dirty corner of the abandoned room, glad to be out of the rain, but that was about it. The bunks had been dismantled since he’d last hid out here—not even the boards were left. Jack pulled off his cap and rubbed at his face. How was this even possible. Davey... all those years ago, that was Davey? Davey grabbing his papa’s hand, leaving Jack behind? Jack chest clenched at long-ignored memories of waiting for his own papa to come back. Of the landlord telling him he couldn’t stay in their room anymore. And Dave had had a father this whole time. Dave, who had a nice apartment, whose father let Snyder take Jack away for another winter at the Refuge. Dave, who didn’t know nothing about how to fight, but whose father let Jack entertain him with the fights and betting and drinks.

Dave seemed like a good guy, though. Les was a nice kid. How did they turn out so good with a father like that? Jack dropped his head and wrung out his cap. He curled up closer to the corner and wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to freeze. The rain had stopped but the air had grown colder, and the occasional gusts blew through the holes in his shoes and rips in his shirt. He wished... he wished... he wished he had a family. Tears burned the back of his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. Of course the only family who ever said they wanted to meet him was the one he had hurt. And the one who had made a convict out of him.

#

Two Days Later

“Jackie? You still in there?” Race called, his voice bouncing around the empty rooms.

“Yeah, Race, I’s the only one here,” Jack called back. “You got anything to eat?”

Race tumbled around the corner and took off his cap, brushing the snow off of it. “Nope,” he grinned. “Got something better. Jeez, you look like hell.”

Jack scowled at him.

“No one’s chasing you that I can see. But I talked to Dave again,” Race said, chewing hard on his cigar. “His folks still want you to come for dinner. Tonight. Now.”

Jack stared hard at Race. “This a trap?”

Race shook his head. “They said we could have all the newsies we want keeping watch while you go in. I got all the guys there already. No cops yet.”

Jack fiddled with his cap and glanced out the window.

“Come on. It’ll be warm.” Race pointed his head at the door. “You really wanna stay here?”

#

Race slapped Jack on the shoulder when they reached the hallway of the Jacobs apartment. “I’m staying right here. I’ll scream like a girl if any bull shows up.”

Jack tried not to throw up. “You always was a coward.”

“Get going. They ain’t gonna wait forever.”

Jack waited until Race had settled on the top step of the staircase before he knocked on the Jacobs’ door. Dave threw it open and smiled at Jack, gesturing for him to come in. Jack watched to see if Dave was going to try to hit him, but it didn’t seem like it. Jack stepped in slowly, hungry for the heat, and took off his cap to stick in his back pocket. He scouted the apartment carefully. Davey’s parents were by the stove, and Les was sprawled on the floor with a puzzle.

“Jack,” Mayer called. “Come in here. We should talk to each other.”

Jack slowly followed Dave over to the kitchen, where his mother was finishing up the cooking and Mayer was resting his leg on a stool.

Mayer adjusted his position in his chair and cleared his throat. “So, Jack, you are the one I’ve been trying to help all these years. You were a little boy when we met. And you are the one who pulled me under the cart.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. Help? He tightened his stomach so it wouldn’t growl. His fingers and ears ached hard as they warmed up, and he clenched his jaw to keep from wincing. “Yeah. I didn’t know the cart was tipping. I just seen the cop,” he mumbled. “Didn’t want to get arrested again.”

It was humiliating, admitting that in front of Dave, like he was afraid of jail after being there a hundred times. Like he never learned to do better and go to school like Dave.

Jack tugged at his shirt and lifted his chin. “Bet you woulda liked it, though, huh, me getting arrested, like all them other times,” he said, louder than he meant to. “You coulda made money betting on me. Maybe Dave and Les wouldn’t have to work no more if you did that.”

Mayer’s jaw dropped a little. “You are thinking that?”

Jack shifted, eyeing Dave uncomfortably as Dave stared back, not understanding. “Yeah. I mean, you know I’m pretty good. You seen me. Lotsa guys made money offa me.” He rubbed his hands together, working the scars.

“Mayer, what is he saying,” Esther asked. “You don’t gamble.”

“Sure he does,” said Jack. Well, so much for dinner. “He been betting against me for years. He’d make more if he bet on me. I win all the time.”

“I never bet,” said Mayer quietly. “I hated watching you fight. I was there to get business.”

Now Jack’s jaw dropped. “You come all the time. Never seemed to bother you.”

“I hated it. I saw you get hurt and I saw Mr. Snyder beat you. It bothered me very much,” Mayer concluded. Jack grit his teeth and glanced uneasily at Dave once more. Dave didn’t need to know that Jack got hurt. He needed to know that Jack won his fights in jail. Dave looked shocked, and Jack didn’t like it.

“Listen,” said Jack, running his hand under his nose, “I’m sorry about your leg. I’ll split our money seventy-thirty if you want. But I ain’t going back to jail. Every newsie I know is here to make sure that don’t happen.”

Mayer somberly watched Jack’s face. His eyes drifted to Jack’s scars, his hands, then his clothes. “Your coat? Where is your coat?”

Jack cracked his neck. This guy was bent on embarrassing him, it seemed like. It was none of his business that Jack couldn’t afford coats for the littles and his own on top of that. Well, as much as Jack liked the smell of whatever Esther was making, it wasn’t worth it. Him and Race could go steal something.

“I gotta go,” said Jack. He turned to Dave. “See ya tomorrow.” He spun around on his heel and stormed out the door. He grabbed a startled Race by the collar and dragged him down the stairs as fast as he could. He could never look Dave in the eye again, not after that, not unless Dave wanted to get in his first fight.

He heard someone thundering down the stairs after them, but he didn’t slow down. Race threw his arm around Jack when they hit the ground floor and they ran out onto the street. 

“Jack!” Davey’s voice cracked as he shouted after them. “Jack, he didn’t mean it like that! Come back!”

Jack stopped short and whirled around. “Oh yeah? Like he didn’t mean to get me thrown in jail all them times? Like he didn’t do that so you could live in your fancy apartment?” He stepped in closer to Dave’s panicked face. “You wanna know what your old man saw? Hm? You really wanna know about that, Davey?”

“Jack,” said Race, reaching for his sleeve. “Jack, leave him alone.”

“Your dad knows what he done. Go ask him,” Jack snarled. “He deserved to get his leg messed up.”

Dave’s face clouded with anger. He pushed at Jack as the newsies gathered around to watch. “He helped you. He wanted to help! That’s what he said!”

Jack stumbled backwards, catching himself on Race, before coming back at Dave, grinning. “Never needed no help. You asked for it, Davey. Remember that.” He swung his fist for a satisfying crack across Davey’s face, and a few punches later the fight, if Jack even felt like it could be called that, was over.

Dave staggered to his feet with the help of some disappointed newsies. “Papa asked about your coat because he could fix one of his and give it to you. Remember that,” he echoed Jack. Putting his hand on his cheek, he pushed the newsies out of his way and went back inside just as Esther emerged. She exchanged a word with Dave, and came over to Jack.

“Tell your friends to go,” she said firmly. Jack cocked his head and checked up and down the block one last time for cops before nodding to Race. Race pointed his arm down the street for the newsies to follow him, and left Jack alone with Esther. Esther wrapped her coat around herself more tightly as Jack put his hands on his hips and watched her silently. He didn’t move as she reached for his sleeve.

“Come inside,” she said. “Mayer will fix his coat for you.”

Jack stayed put. “I don’t want nothing from him.”

“Then you will want it from me,” she replied. “You will let me be your mama tonight.”

Jack’s lips parted as he exhaled. He had no answer for that. He felt his heart crack just a little, just enough for a little hope. After a while, Esther looped her arm through his and led him back inside.

Chapter Text

Jack felt Esther’s warm arm hook through his, and tried not to think too much about it. It was a small arm, but stronger than he had expected. She didn’t yank or pull at him at all. He held the door open for her like he’d been somewhere in his life, and she smiled at him. He pretended he didn’t see her do that. He had almost killed her husband, after all. And just smacked her son around. Maybe Dave was getting ready to take Jack on this time, and was waiting for him. Jack sniffed. Didn’t matter. He’d still beat the shit outta Davey. What mattered was that Esther had said something dumb about being his mama tonight. 

He kept Esther’s slow pace up the stairs, which was much slower than he was used to. Stairs were for running, leaping, jumping down to get away or get to, if you were able to move on your own. If not, they were for dragging up or throwing down but that was not going to be what he thought about right now. He felt like the men he saw getting out of their carriages, wearing their long coats, with all the time in the world. Esther’s hand in the crook of his elbow leaned on him just a bit as they scaled another set of stairs. He felt oddly proud that she hadn’t pulled away.

“It was an accident, with Mayer,” she stated at last. She stopped on the landing below the steps to the Jacobs’ apartment. 

Jack stopped with her. “Yeah. With the delivery cart, anyway.”

“You hate Mayer,” she stated again.

Jack glanced around to make sure they were alone. He could hear sounds from the other apartments, some yelling, someone singing, and two men were coming down the hall, but no one was paying any attention to him or to Esther.

“Yeah.” She couldn’t hurt him. He didn’t need the coat. Dave probably hated him now anyway. Les was just some dumb kid.

“He has thought about you for years. He has worried about you. He cried for you, even when he lost his job.” Esther calmly gazed at Jack’s face. 

Jack rolled his eyes and huffed. “Sure.” Men didn’t cry. He’d never seen a man cry. He never cried.

“He worried about the little boy who thought he was his papa.” Esther’s voice lowered to a murmur. “He worried about the boy in jail.”

Jack cracked his neck, careful not to look at Esther. “Yeah, sure. Well, I ain’t a kid now, so, he don’t gotta worry no more.” He nodded up the stairs. “You want me to walk you to the door?”

Esther nodded. “Yes. And then you’re coming in again.” Jack drew in a breath and went up the stairs with her, still slowly. He didn’t mind going slowly, not when she was still holding on like this. Race rubbed his back and arms on crying nights, but this was different. This was just someone touching him, not afraid or angry or trying to get him to calm down. It wasn’t one of the little boys hanging on him or playing at boxing, wanting his attention. It was just Dave’s mother, walking up the stairs like it wasn’t at all unusual to think Jack could do a gentlemanly thing like walk her to her door. Which he could do. He dared to look down at her, and she smiled at him again. He slowed down even more.

As they entered the apartment, Jack once again took stock of where everyone was. Davey sat with a damp cloth over his eye in the kitchen, and Jack tried not to roll his eyes. Les stood by Mayer, fingering Mayer’s tape measure and pins. Jack noticed a coat lying in Mayer’s lap and stopped, still bending his elbow for Esther.

“Mrs. Jacobs said I gotta do what she says,” Jack mumbled. “But I don’t need nothing.”

Esther squeezed his elbow. “You need a coat. It’s from me, remember.”

“I don’t got money for that.” Jack pressed Esther’s hand into his side with his arm. “I ain’t taking charity.”

Mayer looked at Esther and sighed. “Jack. You will pay for this coat. You will pay by standing still and you won’t speak. That will be your payment. Understand?”

Jack snorted. “You ain’t serious.” He had clamped his elbow down hard on Esther’s hand by now, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t get her to touch him ever again, so he’d just enjoy it, even if he was arguing with Mayer.

“Jack,” interrupted Esther, nodding at the coat, “you said you’d take it from me. But first, dinner.” She slipped her arm out from his, and Jack put his hand over his elbow, to trap the feeling of her being there. She pointed Jack to the chair at the table across from Davey. Jack slid down into it, feeling a little guilty as Davey peered resentfully at him.

”’M sorry, Davey,” said Jack, as Esther and Les got dinner on the table. Dave did look pretty pitiful.

“Not everything needs to be punched, Jack,” Davey replied a little sourly.

“I know...” Jack felt incredibly stupid. His one solution for everything. Punch it. “You wanna punch me? I’ll hold still for ya.” He leaned forward a bit.

“Like I said...” Davey started.

Esther gently pushed Jack back in his seat. “No more punching.” Jack leaned back obediently, feeling a little smug that Esther had touched him and not Davey, but before he thought too much more, dinner was on the table. 

#

“So, now, let Mayer work,” Esther ordered. Jack eyed Mayer uneasily—Jack had gotten away without saying much at dinner as Esther filled his plate a second time and Les entertained them with his stories about selling, but now, well, this was not as much fun. Jack checked on Davey to see if he was going to laugh at him—how many days had Jack insisted he was fine, and not cold, and now here he was, taking a coat from the man he’d nearly killed. 

Esther bustled around the kitchen, and Jack was startled when he realized she’d been watching him watch Davey. She cleared her throat. “Dawid,” she announced, “go next door and check on Mr. Cohen. See if he needs anything, or his poor wife.”

“Yes, Mama,” Davey answered, clearly not enthused about the idea. “Be back in a minute, Jack.”

The door closed behind Davey, and Mayer gestured for Jack to come closer. Jack had watched Davey go, but sidled over after getting the desired push from Esther, and Mayer had Jack kneel on the floor in front of his chair so he could begin to measure him. Finally he had Jack slip on the battered coat while Les handed him pins and scissors and the measuring tape as requested. Soon Les and Mayer fell into a quiet partnership that required less talking, and Jack held still, tense, not wanting to be pricked or stabbed. Esther picked up some mending and started in on her own work, and once Davey returned, he picked up a book.

Jack wasn’t quite sure what to make of the quiet. He looked suspiciously at Mayer when Mayer turned him this way and that, or held Jack’s arms out or brushed their hands together as he adjusted the sleeves. At last, Mayer dusted off Jack’s shoulders and lifted Jack’s chin to admire his work. His hands were deft, gentle. 

“So. I know what to do. When I finish, you’ll have a coat that fits,” Mayer declared, taking off the coat a final time. Jack shrugged his shoulders to get his shirt back in place.

He should say something. Twice he’d been arrested with Mayer’s permission as he’d tried to get a coat. This third time, it was a gift, and Jack’s mind stuttered and stopped trying to figure it all out. 

“You don’t gotta do all that, Mr. Jacobs,” he finally said, watching Mayer and Les sort out the thread and needles. “It’s good the way it is.”

Esther put down her own work. “You will let Mayer do it.” Jack shut up. He was fine arguing with anyone, usually. He was fine punching anyone, always. But this was different, and while he wasn’t sure Esther meant she would really act like a mother for him tonight, he hoped she did, and maybe this was what she had in mind. 

“Okay,” he replied, hoping it was the right answer. She smiled. He’d done it. He’d done it right.

#

Jack won again, and the crowd pressed in, giving him drink after drink. He took them all, relishing the burn in his throat to dull the pain in his side and face. He saw Snyder glowering off to the side, and he took another drink. Snyder came closer, and closer, and his eyes got bigger, and bigger. Jack tried to escape but he had no legs. He turned his head...

Jack awoke on the floor, knowing the fading thump was his. He got up fast, turning around, fists ready. The sofa Esther had fixed up for him was bulky with a mass of a tangled blanket. His breath slowed, and he realized he could see because of the light coming from the lamp on the kitchen table across the room. Mayer sat, head bowed, stitching intently.

“Are you all right?” Mayer asked, without looking up. “Bad dream?”

Jack sniffed and ran his hand under his nose. “Fine, yeah.” He turned all the way around again to make sure Snyder wasn’t there.

“I have them too,” said Mayer. “Sometimes I do a lot of work at night so I don’t wake my family.”

Jack came closer, and Mayer nodded at the chair near him. “Sit.”

Jack sat, only now seeing that Mayer was working on the coat. He watched Mayer’s methodical work, mesmerized by the even stitches, the practiced reach for scissors or thread. It was calming to watch the progress. It was unnerving to know Mayer was doing this specifically for him.

“You should go to bed, Mr. Jacobs,” Jack muttered at last.

“I shouldn’t. It’s a night for bad dreams. And you need a coat. One that fits.”

Jack didn’t say anything more, but stayed at the table, drowsily watching Mayer work. He couldn’t keep his head up after a while, and rested it on his hand, with his elbow on the table. At last he stretched out his arm and used it as a pillow, listening to the soft rasp of thread through cloth, and the occasional gentle snip of scissors.

He dreamt a dream that was new. Esther held his elbow going up the stairs, but this time Jack was wearing a coat. He walked into the apartment with her, and wasn’t afraid. It was quiet, and calm. Mayer walked toward him, and shook his hand.

Chapter Text

“Jack?” Mayer asked softly. “Jack, wake up.”

Jack opened his eyes and lifted his head, confused. He saw Mayer looking at him intently, and then glanced around the room to make sure he remembered where he was. No one else was up, and it was still dark out.

Mayer held out his hand. “The coat is done. I’ll mend your shirt.”

Jack frowned. “Uh, no. Thanks.” He cleared his throat, sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His face felt foggy and Mayer wasn’t completely in focus, but it was clear he wouldn’t be sleeping in the chair any longer.

“Let me fix it now, before everyone is awake. Then they won’t see.” Mayer curled his fingers at Jack a few times.

Jack’s frown deepened. 

“I’ve seen, remember,” Mayer continued softly. “Come now. Let’s get it mended. If you argue then Esther maybe will wake up.”

Slowly, sleepily, Jack pulled his shirt off over his head and handed it over. He pulled his undershirt back down and waited for Mayer to look away. Jack stared at the floor. He’d never thought about his undershirt, actually, until Mayer gazed at him like he was doing now. Jack shifted his shoulders.

“Give me that shirt.” Mayer pointed at him. “I will give you another one. You won’t be cold.” Jack hesitantly pulled it off and handed it over. Mayer held it, thinking for a moment, tracing the stains, losing track of the number of holes, and shook his head. He leaned forward, holding the shirt to flip open the stove door, and threw the shirt in. He kicked the door closed and latched it.

“Hey,” Jack whispered fiercely. “You don’t gotta do that.” Mayer sat back for a moment, scanning Jack’s body, and drew in a deep, sad breath. Jack’s face started to flush with anger. What was he looking at. He’d seen it all before, like he said. Jack moved to stand up, and Mayer’s attention snapped back to Jack’s face. Mayer handed him the coat, and Jack slipped it on. He felt funny with just the coat on, but it was warm and soft and fit just right. Mayer took up the first shirt Jack had given him, and inventoried the places that he needed to fix. He got to work as Jack slumped back in his chair.

“Did the bad dreams stop?” Mayer asked, glancing at Jack.

“Yeah, for tonight,” Jack mumbled.

“Esther and I have seen a lot of death, a lot of bad things,” said Mayer, focusing on the shirt. “I think you are like us that way? I know you don’t have a papa. Your mama?”

Jack shrugged. “Don’t matter.”

“Dead?”

Jack shrugged again.

“Hm.” Mayer snapped off a thread and searched for the next tear. “Your bad dreams, they’re about them?”

Jack shook his head. “Not really. More about, you know...” He rubbed the scars on his hands absently, twisting them harder and harder as he hoped Mayer would shut up.

Mayer stopped for a moment and watched. “I know what it is to be forced to fight. I’ve seen other men forced to do it. They had to protect their wives, their children. Sometimes they fight with fists, sometimes we fight by escaping and not dying. Sometimes other people suffer when we protect our families. I’ve seen men win and lose all my life.”

“Yeah, well, I win.” Jack pulled the coat tighter around himself. Never in his life had he had a coat this warm. He watched Mayer start in on another rip in the shirt. “But sometimes I wasn’t supposed to. Snyder’d try to fix it, y’know, ahead of time. Keep me up at night working, that kind of shit, wear me out. But I’d win anyway, just to piss him off. Then he’d...” Jack quit talking. Like Mayer didn’t know what he’d done to Jack.

Mayer dug through his box of buttons. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Jack nodded numbly. 

“But you have had a lot of losses, like us...” 

Jack felt his face get hot once more and blood rushed through his ears. Like he needed reminders of the failure he was. The times Snyder had beat that into him. Like Mayer wasn’t responsible for making Jack lose, again and again. Anger pushed him to stand and tear off the coat and throw it on the floor.

“I don’t gotta listen to you,” he whispered fiercely, bending over and pointing at Mayer. “You...” Jack stopped. There was a movement across the room, and Jack noticed too late that Esther was up.

“Jack, please sit. I wasn’t done. Esther...” Mayer held out his hand to her. “I’ve said all the wrong things. Are you surprised?”

Jack snatched the coat up off the floor and held it to his chest. He felt his face tremble as Esther paused. He wanted to stay, and keep the coat, and get his shirt mended, and be friends with Davey and Les, and walk Esther up the stairs. But now... he’d woken up his... Davey’s... mama. He sucked in a breath. It was fine. He’d be fine. He was Jack fucking fucking fucking Kelly. Right? He stood still, hanging on by a thread, trying not to cry. He never cried.

Esther came straight to Jack, walking by Mayer. She stopped in front of him and tugged at the coat. “You’ll get cold. Let’s put this on.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered, clutching the coat closer. His knuckles turned white. Maybe he could still have it. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I’m really sorry.” He nearly choked on the lump that had suddenly clogged his throat. “Mrs. Jacobs, I’ll be quiet, I swear.”

“Jack.” She put her hand out, stopping short of his bare shoulder. “The coat. Put it on so you don’t get cold.”

Jack nodded silently and stepped straight back so she wouldn’t see too much, and swiftly swung it on. He pulled it closed and crossed his arms to hang on to his elbows. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

Mayer interrupted with a stream of Yiddish and tilted his head back toward the bedroom. Esther nodded and went briskly back, returning with an undershirt. She held it out to Jack, waited for him to take it, and turned around. 

“Put it on,” said Mayer, holding up Jack’s shirt for a final check. “I think I’m done.” Jack hesitated, Mayer’s extra undershirt limp in his hand.

“Jack,” said Esther. “Don’t make me wait.” Jack threw off the coat and pulled the undershirt on. Mayer tossed him his shirt, and Jack fumbled to get it buttoned with all the new buttons on it. He tucked it all in and put his suspenders over his shoulders for the day.

“I’m done, Mrs. Jacobs,” he announced, rushing his fingers through his hair. “Take a look.”

Esther turned around and raised her eyebrows. “An improvement.” Jack felt a small blush creep up his neck, and Mayer chuckled.

Jack smiled a little—he couldn’t help himself. He smoothed out his shirt and cracked his neck. “I look sharp, yeah? Handsome?”

Esther clucked her tongue and dipped her dishrag in the washbasin. “Not yet. Wash.” Jack took the dishrag and scrubbed his face until he thought he’d look like one of those carvings of a skull he’d seen on tombstones.

He stopped and held out the cloth to Esther, who had taken a chair next to Mayer and sat there, her hand resting in Mayer’s. “Am I handsome now?”

“Very handsome,” said Esther, taking the dishrag back with her free hand. Jack hitched up his pants and cracked a triumphant grin at Mayer. Mayer could go on and talk about how Jack was a failure. Mayer could do that all day if he wanted. But Jack’s mama thought he was handsome. He glanced at his new coat, and wondered if it could possibly make him feel any warmer than he did right now.

Chapter Text

Jack polished off his piece of bread, sloshed down the tea, and eagerly grabbed his coat and cap as Davey and Les did the same and added their scarves and gloves. Davey bent to tighten Les’ laces and Jack waited near the door, for the first time almost anxious to go out and sell in the cold weather, just to see how it would feel with his new clothes.

Esther walked quickly across the room. “Not so fast! Let me inspect.”

Jack straightened up, yanked his cap off, jerked his hands behind his back and lifted his chin. He stared straight ahead. Esther slowed, eyeing him, and went to Les first. Davey had never said anything about inspections, and while Esther seemed like she wouldn’t put up with any nonsense, she wasn’t carrying a cane either. Davey and Les never showed up with marks on their hands, or anywhere else, for that matter. Still, Jack didn’t dare move.

Esther put wrapped sandwiches into Davey and Les’ outstretched hands, and slipped an identical one into Jack’s front pocket. “A little lunch,” she murmured.

Davey’s hand went to his pocket and his eyebrows drew together a touch, but he chorused a “Thanks, Mama” with Les. Jack just stared ahead, and kept still and silent. Should he say “thanks” or would that be speaking out of turn? He didn’t think she’d mind, but he could never tell. Just because she thought he was handsome didn’t mean she wouldn’t crack him on the hands with something. Race’s mama had hit him, so Jack knew they could do that just as easily as fathers could. Jack kept his mouth shut. Davey and Les pulled on their caps, and moved toward the door, even though Esther hadn’t said they were dismissed.

In fact, after glancing them over, Esther put up a hand for them to wait. Jack was tempted to shoot Davey an “I told you so” look, because inspection was not, in fact, over, but kept his eyes straight ahead like he was supposed to. She came back over with Mayer’s scarf in her hand, and wrapped it around Jack’s neck.

“There. Now my boys are ready.” She smiled at Jack, and he felt his ears turn pink. He still didn’t move. “I used Mayer’s gloves to make Les’ scarf longer this year. I’m sorry.”

Davey snorted, and Jack felt his entire face flush with embarrassment that she would think he was waiting for gloves, too. He already felt a little overstuffed, both with the weight in his pocket and the weight around his neck. As much as he’d been ready to go just a few minutes earlier, now he never wanted to move again. He could get used to inspections like these. He really just wanted to stay here and see what Esther would do next.

Esther kissed Les and Davey on the cheek, and then stopped in front of Jack. “A kiss?” she asked softly.

Jack jerked a miniscule nod, wanting to sink through the floor as Les giggled. He wanted the kiss, though. He wanted it bad. Esther pecked his cheek and patted his shoulder, and it took every ounce of self control he had not to start crying. This wasn’t inspection. Or if it was, he wanted more. Was there more? He felt the draft as Les opened the door, and Davey grabbed Jack’s  arm to unmoor him from his spot and drag him out the door.

“Come on!” Les shouted, jumping down the stairs. “Jack, you’re so slow!”

“What’s the matter with you?” Davey needled him in their way down. “You haven’t said a word all morning. You just stood there, like, I dunno... You didn’t even say thank you to my folks for anything. Do you still hate them or something? What do they have to do?”

Jack shook his head. He hadn’t said thank you. Not once. He should’ve said thank you, then, after all. Dammit. He glanced back up the stairs.

“Oh, no you don’t,” groaned Davey, tugging at him again. “We’re late already. If you go back Mama will probably give you half my dinner, too, at this rate.”

Jack turned back to Davey. “What?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

“Davey, what did you mean by that?” Jack insisted, pushing Davey against the wall at the entrance to the building. “What’d I get half of?” He felt for his lunch and pulled it out, a half of a sandwich. “This? This is half of your lunch? You always get a whole one? Here, take it,” he said, shoving it at Davey.

“Forget it. It’s nothing. Just tell my folks thanks for something sometime, okay? You took my father’s only other undershirt, his old coat that he stayed up all night tailoring for you, his scarf, three meals, and who knows what else, and you just stand there like the king of England and don’t say anything to them! Would it kill you to say thank you, or does the great Jack Kelly think that’s beneath him?” Davey broke away and stormed ahead to catch up with Les, leaving Jack alone in the entryway, speechless.

#

Jack sat on the stack of papes and unlaced his boots, thinking hard about what Davey had said. Davey and Les were long gone by the time Jack had showed up, so Jack took that to mean that this was a big deal. He’d fix it, then. Davey was right, as usual. Mayer had stayed up all night. Talking crazy, but still, fixing the coat for him and then some. Esther, well, her inspection had been one he’d gladly undergo every stinking day. A stream of ideas came to Jack as he took yesterday’s pape and folded several sheets to line his shoes with to cover the holes, hoping it would last a little while. He watched Race get his papes and motioned for him to come over.

Race sauntered over, smirking. “You telling me Davey’s folks didn’t notice you making off with that coat and scarf, Jackie? ‘S the least they could give you after what his father did to you.”

“Relax,” said Jack. “C’mere. They’s real nice, Davey’s folks. But I didn’t say nothing like thank you or nothing, so you gotta help me out.”

Race’s eyebrows went up. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Cuz I’s asking you.” Jack tied his boots again and stood up. “You in or out?”

“Gimme the scarf.”

Jack took off the scarf and tossed it at Race. “I gotta give it back, so don’t lose it. You in?”

Race’s eyes widened as he felt the thick scarf and tied it around his neck. “In.”

#

Jack crouched with Race in the alley behind the store. “‘S gonna be heavy. Ready?”

Race shrugged. “Sure.”

Jack motioned for Race to stay put and crept to the back door. Easily picking the lock, he waited for Race to join him, and they went in, quietly shutting the door behind them. Jack found a piece of paper and scrawled a quick note before shoving it in his pocket.

“Well? Which one?” Race whispered.

Jack shrugged. He pointed at the one closest to them. “Why make it hard?” They each took an end and shuffled to the back door, finding that it was more awkward than heavy. Setting it down in the alley, Jack went back and shut the door. Slowly they made their way from alley to alley, sometimes waiting for ordinary people to move on, sometimes waiting for the cop at the end of the block to move on. At long last, they stopped at the end of the alley across from the Jacobs’ building.

Jack wiped his forehead with his sleeve and flexed his hands. “Ready? Fourth floor.”

“I been there yesterday, dumbass, remember? How’s no one gonna see us?”

Jack jingled the money he’d made that day. “Ain’t no one gonna see us.” Race nodded in understanding.

By the time they’d made it to the fourth floor, Jack’s pockets were lighter, and Race had made it clear that he would owe Jack no favors for years. They stopped to rest for a moment, and Jack pushed his cap back. He dug out his piece of paper, stuck it on top of their cargo, and motioned for Race to pick up his end again.

Ever so gently, they set it down outside the Jacobs’ door, and Jack signaled Race to take off. Race needed no other invitation, and tumbled down the stairs. Jack took a deep breath, knocked hard on the Jacobs’ door, and ran as fast as he ever had. No cop could have made him run faster, and he leaped and prayed his way down the stairs, knowing it was a miracle he didn’t break his ankles by the time he reached the bottom and raced off to the lodge.

Chapter Text

Jack and Race slowed as they got close to the circulation gate the next morning. Davey stood there, arms crossed. Les hung on the gate, holding his head so far back that he was almost upside down. His cap was on the ground behind him. Jack winced when he noticed that Davey’s eye was still more purple than it would have been otherwise, but Davey seemed not to notice.

“Morning, boys!” Jack shouted. Les tried to wave but nearly lost his grip, and grabbed back onto the bars. 

“You can’t sell today, Jack,” Davey intoned. “My parents want answers.”

Jack winked at Race. “A guy’s gotta eat, Davey. I gotta pay for a place to sleep, y’know. How about I come over for dinner after we’re done selling, huh?”

“They know it was you, Jack,” Davey huffed. “They’re not happy. And that’s not what I meant by saying thank you.”

Jack put his hands up in front of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Davey’s eyebrows jumped off his forehead. “Oh, so some stranger just dropped off a stolen gift with ‘thonk yu’ on it?”

Race snickered. “Thonk you?” He elbowed Jack. “You always was a bad speller.”

Jack shot Race an annoyed look. “Like you’s better.” He turned to Davey. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you’s offering dinner...”

Davey came up close to Jack to make him look up. “My mama wants to talk to you. Now.” 

Jack gulped. Race put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll sell for you, Jackie, at least to cover the bed.”

Jack gently slapped Race’s side and backed away from Davey. “Yeah, okay. I’ll catch up with you guys later.” He turned and walked slowly down the block, making sure he took his time as Davey watched. He reached the end of the block, went around the corner, and took off. He dodged the carts and the people and the traffic, weaving in and out, ignoring the shouts, pushing through knots of people who had no purpose but to block sidewalks and streets. He leaped over piles of trash, threw himself over makeshift barriers at the ends of alleys, and soon was at the entrance to Davey’s building.

He let himself draw in one big breath, then dashed up the stairs two at a time. His hair stuck to his forehead despite the cold morning, and he crashed down the hall. He let himself take three big breaths, and knocked on the door. He put his hands on his hips and tried very, very hard to catch his breath completely, but was still heaving a bit when Esther opened the door.

Jack took off his cap. “Mrs. Jacobs. Davey said you wanted to talk to me.”

Esther opened the door wider so he could come in. Mayer was seated on the sofa, and in the middle of the room sat Jack’s gift.

“Hey,” said Jack, smiling wide, “that’s new. You gonna open up your own shop here, Mr. Jacobs?” He circled around to the other side, bent over to look at it more closely, and whistled admiringly.

Mayer sighed. “As you know very well, I did not purchase a treadle sewing machine. It appeared here in the middle of the night with a note that said ‘thonk yu’ on it. Dawid told us he had gotten angry with you for not saying thank you yesterday. Jack, we don’t need a gift from you. We don’t need a stolen gift. You can just say thank you if you like. You must bring this back.”

Jack straightened up. “I didn’t take nothing.” He felt Esther’s eyes on him. “If someone dropped this off for you, just take it, yeah? Get some customers? Then maybe Davey and Les don’t have to work. They can go back to school, yeah? They knows how to spell pretty good already.”

“If someone saw you, you could get arrested again,” said Esther, coming over to take his hand. “Why take the risk?”

Jack ran his hand under his nose. The pause grew longer and longer, and still he held on to Esther’s hand. He wished he could stand here and hold it for a lot longer, but he felt his throat start to close up and tears start to creep behind his eyes, so he decided he should probably say something before he lost all his nerve. He focused on the sewing machine and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Jacobs let me go to jail just about my whole life to protect you. And Davey, and Les. I just didn’t know it. I thought he hated me because I was bad and kept trying to steal stuff. I tried to get him to like me by showing him I could win most of my fights, but he still let Snyder get me. But it was because he was worried about his family. Better to let me go to jail, then. I get it. I’d a probably went there anyhow.

You said you’d be my mama for last night. So I figure, when Davey said I’s rude for not saying thank you, then I felt bad. I thought maybe somehow I could be like Mr. Jacobs, y’know? This can protect you,” he finished, barely whispering, pointing at the sewing machine. “Mr. Jacobs can work again and Davey and Les can go back to school, like they’s supposed to. It don’t matter if I go back to jail. I’ll end up there anyways for something. Might as well be a good reason.”

Neither Mayer or Esther spoke. Esther put her other hand over Jack’s, and Jack soaked it in while he could. Before they had him arrested again. He flexed his free hand and closed his eyes, wondering what kind of opponents Snyder would bring in for him now. It made his stomach cold to think about the chalk-lined floor, stained with blood, but maybe when he got out he could come find Esther again. Maybe Mayer would talk him through the nightmare nights and tell Jack about his own bad dreams.

Mayer coughed. “I find it so strange in America sometimes. People leave their trash in the hallway for others to take. And they leave signs with their names on them. Perhaps a Norwegian fellow? This Thonk? Esther, is that what you think?”

Esther hummed, putting her arm around Jack’s waist. “Danish, perhaps. A Lutheran.”

Mayer pushed himself to his feet, and had to take a moment to find his balance. He held out his hand, waiting. Jack looked at it for a long while. And finally, slowly, they shook hands.