Updates every weekend, with occasional bonus posts on Wednesdays.
Willow Locke, a teenage immigrant living in turn-of-the century Manhattan, must find the strength within her to protect her family from an insidious corporate plot to destroy the un...
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Eitan (left) and Robert at the Times warehouse waiting for morning pickup.
Eitan Lostch and Robert Spencer were hawking the Times in Union Square, calling out the headlines to passers-by.
"Edison declares Wardenclyffe tower a failure!" Eitan yelled out. "Read all about it!"
A businessman in a pin-striped suit proffered a coin and Eitan gave him a paper. The crystalline sunlight diffused through the veils of dust and smoke clinging to the street. Eitan threw his voice above the morning cacophony of the square. The other vendors cried, "Hot Corn" and "Peanuts, get your roasted peanuts here!"
A piece of corn had fallen off a vendor's cart onto the dusty cobbles. The vendor had kicked it aside. Eitan watched as an orphan girl, a street sweeper dressed in gray rags, set her broom down near a flower bed and crept over to retrieve it. The little girl, who could not have been more than 7 years old, claimed her prize and retreated with her broom to a nearby bench to eat it. He felt sorry for her. There wasn't much profit in sweeping.
Eitan and Robert were selling their papers quickly.
"Think we have enough?" Eitan asked his friend.
"Hope so," said Robert "We can sprint back to the office and buy more this early."
"We'll see, give it a half-hour, measure the pace." Eitan lit his cherry wood pipe and drew in the smoke in a long draught, then passed the pipe to Robert.
"Rabbits are here." Robert gestured with the pipe towards a group of newsboys hawking on the other side of the square.
"They know where to go to sell, I guess." murmured Eitan, taking the pipe back. "More traffic here than the Battery."
"They're outta their territory," said Robert, with a belligerent sneer.
"Aw let 'em. It's too early." said Eitan, "We'll all sell out on a day like today. Maybe they'll think of it as peacemaking, little less hassle on the block."
Eitan could see the members of the Dead Rabbits gang, Harry, the leader, and Jim the captain. They were searching the square with their eyes as they sold, on high alert because of their boundary violation. They hadn't seen Eitan and Robert but it was just a matter of time; they had to shout to sell after all.
But the Dead Rabbits weren't just selling, now a tall man with red hair wearing a dark suit was standing in their midst, talking with them, directing them. Eitan saw a raised wooden platform behind the Dead Rabbits. The tall, red-haired man was ascending the stage and ushering the Rabbits onstage with him. He approached an Edison carbon-arc microphone on a stand and gestured to a worker standing at a table on the left of the stage. The worker threw a knife switch and the carbon-arc mic hissed to life.
The red haired man began.
"People of New York, how many times have you walked past these children, heard them shouting the headlines up to high heaven, purchased papers from them, oblivious to their wretched plight? This morning let the scales fall from your eyes. These darling cherubim are orphans—yes, orphans!"
