They were gaining on him. The thin blonde boy pushed himself to run faster, but the exhaustion and hunger were slowing him down, making him vulnerable. It was only a matter of time before the ones who were chasing him caught up, then he wouldn�t have to worry about sleeping, he�d probably be dead. He pumped his long legs as fast as they would move, but it didn�t seem to be fast enough. Something protruding from the alley floor tripped him up and he went sprawling into the dirt. He struggled to his feet as his pursuers rounded the corner and charged towards him. He turned to run, but a beefy hand closed around his upper arm and he was slammed into the brick wall so hard he saw stars.

�Dis is whatcha get when you goes stealin� in my territory,� a thick, guttural voice hissed, and a fist smashed into his left eye. The pain wasn�t too bad, certainly no worse than the beatings that had been a regular part of his life before his old man had gone to prison. The boy forced himself to stand up straight and not flinch from the attack, but a heavy fist in his stomach made him double over, another blow to his back drove him to his knees. A nasty creature named Cain Monroe ran the petty crime in lower Manhattan. A young man, a former newsboy, he had moved up to small scams and low-scale thievery when he discovered there was far more money to be made there than hawking headlines. No one committed a small crime in the area without his knowledge, and anyone who did was strongly advised to pay him a small token, or his goons would be after them. The unfortunate boy, fairly new to the streets and unaware of the hierarchy, had pinched a small amount of food from a vendor, not realizing he was doing it in plain sight of two of Cain�s brawniest henchmen.

�Leave �im alone, Cain, �e don�t know no bettuh,� a new voice filtered through the red waves of pain that surrounded the boy.

�This ain�t yer fight, Flip,� came the reply. �If he don�t know no bettuh den he�d better learn real quick.�

�I t�ink he�s learned all right,� the new voice was light and vaguely amused, with not a smidgen of the respect or fear that were usually shown Cain Monroe.

The boy on the ground struggled to his feet and wiped at the stream of blood flowing from his nose. His vision was hazy with pain and exhaustion, but he could make out the stocky figure of Cain standing above him, chewing on a fat cigar. Drawing on the last reserves of his energy, the boy threw himself at the petty criminal, taking him by surprise and knocking him into the dirt.

�Oh, now you�ve gone and done it,� the lighter voice sighed as the two of them rolled in the dirt, exchanging punches. �All right, break it up.� A pair of hands grabbed the back of his shirt and the boy let himself be hauled to his feet. He swayed, staggered, and stumbled against the person who had pulled him up.

�Stay out of it, Flip, he�s gonna die,� Cain growled, standing up and wiping at his own bloody nose. He was blowing like an overworked horse, and his broad face was an unattractive shade of purple.

"Oh, leave it alone, Cain,� the one called Flip snorted. �Youse soaked him bad enough. He�s learned �is lesson, leave it alone.� With that, the boy found himself being hustled away down the alley by the smaller figure. Through the haze of pain, he still managed to be surprised that Cain and his goons didn�t follow or even protest. �You all right?� Flip asked him, then the other boy shook his head. �Nah, stupid question, you don�t look all right, come on.�

The boy was half led, half dragged down the dark street and around a corner, then in through the partially boarded up window of an abandoned building. He stumbled and allowed himself to drop to the dirt floor, leaning his throbbing head back against the cement wall.

�Heah,� a piece of bread was pressed into his hand and he tore it apart ravenously. �What was ya doin�, tryin� to soak Cain when youse half dead as it is? Dat was some stupid,� the other boy grumbled. �What�s yer name anyway?�

�Jack,� the boy managed to reply between mouthfuls of stale bread. �Jack Kelly.�

�I�m Flip. Heah, drink dis,� he handed Jack a small bottle. Jack took a sip and gagged as fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. Flip snickered softly. �Not as good a drinkah as you is a fightah, huh?� he commented.

�Dis yer place?� Jack wanted to know, his voice husky with pain and exhaustion.

�Nah, jus� a place, I sleeps heah sometimes if I gots to.� Jack could make out the other boy�s smaller figure in the darkness as he shrugged. �Heah, speakin� a� sleep,� he handed Jack a scratchy, torn blanket. �Get some. You needs it.�

******

Jack felt as though he�d been run over by an entire team of carriages, and a groan escaped him as he dragged himself into a sitting position. Weak sunlight filtered in through the boarded up windows, and for a moment, he couldn�t remember where he was. Then it all flooded back to him: Cain Monroe, the fight, a kid named Flip. He was alone in the room, which was obviously the basement of a condemned building. It was mostly empty except for a few discarded pieces of wood and the blanket that had been covering him.

A quick once over told him he was mostly unhurt, no bones broken, just a painful black eye, a split lip and bruises on nearly every inch of his lanky frame. Nothing serious. He was slowly getting to his feet when the boards over the window began to be pushed out of place. He flattened himself against the wall, readying for a possible attack, but the figure that appeared was a fairly familiar one.

�Hey, youse awake,� Flip grinned, and in the daylight Jack was astonished to discover that the smaller boy was actually a girl in boys� clothes. She was small and thin, with a stubborn chin and a pert nose, and appeared to be around Jack�s own age of fifteen.

�Youse a goil?� he blurted out and Flip laughed.

�Not too quick, is ya?� she asked, holding out a small bundle to him. He accepted it, and although he kept his expression indifferent, he was delighted to discover sausages and bread wrapped inside.

�How come you helped me last night?� he asked, taking out a sausage. Flip took off her hat, shaking out long strawberry blonde hair as she sat down on the dirt floor.

��Cause I knew it would piss Cain off,� she replied with a smirk. �He t�inks he�s this big shot who owns dis territory, but he�s just a stupid thug wit� no brains.�

Jack absorbed this information as he polished off the rest of the food Flip had bought him. �Much obliged to ya,� he muttered, hating to be grateful to anyone for anything. The girl shrugged her thin shoulders.

�Stay outta Cain�s way, he ain�t too bright, but he�s real nasty,� she advised and Jack nodded.

�Yeah, I noticed,� he grumbled, gingerly fingering the swelling around his left eye. �T�anks.�

�Nuthin to it,� she shrugged. �So, you runnin� away or what?� she wanted to know. Jack eyed her suspiciously.

�What�s it to ya?� he demanded, and the girl snorted.

�Nuthin�, just makin� conversation,� she replied.

Jack sighed. �Yeah, got outta da orphanage my parents left me in when dey went out west,� he mumbled out his story reluctantly.

Flip shrugged. �You oughtta do somethin� other den stealin�, you ain�t no good at it,� she said. Jack bristled at the criticism.

�And you is, I guess?� he shot back, and Flip laughed out loud.

�I�m the best, everybody knows that,� she said nonchalantly. �You oughtta get a job or somethin�, at one a� da factories maybe.� Jack shrugged. He didn�t really care to admit that he�d tried that already, and no one was about to hire a grimy boy with no place to live. �I know what you can do,� Flip announced abruptly, and Jack looked at her warily. Whatever she suggested couldn�t be pleasant. �You can be a newsboy,� she said, and shot him a grin that lit up her face. Jack stared at her for a moment.

�A newsie,� he repeated doubtfully. �Sellin� newspapers.�

�It ain�t hard,� Flip was going on. �You�d have a place ta live at one a� dere lodgin� houses, an� you could stay outta Cain�s way,� she smirked at him. ��Cause ya know I can�t always be around to save yer ass.�

�I didn�t need yer help,� he snapped in irritation. She rolled her eyes.

�Shoah ya didn�t,� she grinned, getting to her feet. �Anyways, I gots ta go. See ya �round.� With that, she headed for the boarded up window.

�Um, hey, Flip?� Jack stopped her hesitantly. She turned to him with uplifted eyebrows. �T�anks,� he muttered begrudgingly, and she flashed a smile that was unlike her trademark arrogant grin.

�Yer welcome,� she said, and then she was gone, leaving Jack alone.

A newsie, huh? Well, now that was a thought.