Between Manhattan and Brooklyn [ON HIATUS]

Chapter 3

Dear Ms. Plumber,

Three years ago, I was fired out of my job, and I haven't been able to get another one since. At first, I was sore at the government, cause it's on account of all the slimy politics here that we got all this unemployment.  But in looking around, it seems the whole world is going to pot.

So in protest, on Christmas Eve, I'm going to commit suicide by jumping off a New York City bridge.

Signed, a disgusted American citizen,

John Doe

Jack paused and stared at the column as he flipped through the day's paper. He didn't usually think anything of articles like this - usually, that space was either filled with a review of some vaudeville performance, or with a letter from someone complaining about their husband or asking for fashion advice.

But this was different. This was something that Jack had never seen in a paper before.

Who would send in something like that? And more importantly, who the hell would publish it? Jack read over it again, his eyes lingering over some of the more striking sentences.

'I was fired out of my job and haven't been able to get another one since.' 'The whole world is going to pot.' 'In protest, on Christmas Eve, I'm going to commit suicide'.

These were the kind of things Jack didn't hear anywhere except from the newsies in the confines of their Lodging House, confiding to each other that they were struggling in every aspect, that most of them were terrified of aging out of this job, because it was doubtful that they'd get another one once they left.

Now, this column was out for the entire city to read. These thoughts were public. Sure, it was on page eight, and it didn't take up that much space. But Jack was going to hawk this headline as though his life depended on it, because, in a way, it did.

"Hey, Jack." Crutchie came up to him, and it was clear that he had just read the same column. "You see this article on page eight?"

He nodded. "It sure is something, huh?"

"Something strange." The younger boy agreed. "Why would Norton print this?"

"Who knows why Norton does anything?" Jack smirked. "Maybe he wrote it himself to keep people from noticing the fact that he's firing people left and right from his own company."

"Nah," Crutchie shook his head, "This ain't him. You saw the wording, that was written by regular guy."

"A real John Doe, huh?" Jack inspected it. "Yeah, looks like it. I gotta hand it to the guy, he's either insane, or the only sane one out of everyone in this city."

"Looks like a little of both." Crutchie grinned. "This sure is more interesting than the front page, though. What was it, something about how one politician said something bad about another politician?"

"Yeah, something like that. That ain't news, though. This is gonna sell us out faster than ever, so I'm sticking to it."

"What do you wanna bet we all finish before noon?"

"I'd say that'd be the first time it's happened, but I'd put good money on it for today. Anyone with any sense is gonna want a good look at this."

oOo

As it turned out, all the newsboys sold out by noon. This was the most accomplished any of them had felt in a long while, and they were in good spirits as the made their way back to the Lodging House. Jack grinned to himself as he felt the change moving around in his pockets - that feeling meant he was going to be able to pay for a night inside, something he never took for granted.

However, they had only nearly made it to the old building when they heard a familiar sound, but at a very odd time. The circulation bell.

They all stopped in the street, and the noise was unmistakable. That was the same bell that woke them up every morning, telling them that there were papers ready to be distributed at the desk. The bell they had always only heard in the morning.

The boys stood there for a moment in a state of confusion, until the bell stopped and Jack straightened up.

"Guess we better go see what all the fuss is about, yeah?"

They fell silent as they began their trek back to Newsies Square, all worrying, but none of them knew what exactly to worry about. So they just walked.

When they reached the square, they saw Mr. Wiesel and the Delancey brothers standing behind the circulation desk, and none of them looking particularly happy about returning to work. Jack saw the unsure looks on his brothers faces, and stepped up to the desk.

"Oscar, Morris, you missed us so much you decided to just do it all over again? The day ain't even half over fellas, I gotta say, you two can be too clingy some times."

"Shut up, Kelly." Oscar glowered at him, but Jack was so used to the sight that it was no longer the least bit intimidating.

He gave the two brothers a sarcastic smile, and glanced at the older man. "Alright, Weasel, what's the deal? We already sold our papes."

"Yeah, and we got more for you." Wiesel said gruffly.

"And why's that?"

"None of your business." Morris piped up.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Look, we ain't complaining, but if we's gonna do extra work we got a right to know why."

Wiesel sighed. "The edition sold out. They printed more, and someone's gotta sell them."

"And it ain't gonna be us." Oscar said pointedly.

"The entire edition sold out?" Jack was so surprised by this news that he decided to just ignore Oscar's comment all together. "It's 'cause of that column, huh? The letter from the John Doe?"

"You're smart, huh Kelly? People can't get enough of it." Jack noticed that Wiesel didn't seem to think too badly of it himself. "Now are you gonna buy these or not?"

Jack glanced back at the boys, before nodding. It never hurt to make extra money, and very rarely did an opportunity to do so present itself like this.

"Yeah, okay. C'mon boys, lets get back out there."

Though none of them were too ecstatic, the newsies lined up to buy more copies. After all, it only meant they'd get done selling at their normal time.

This article seemed to be turning into their saving grace. So, while none of them said it out loud, they were all silently thanking John Doe.

AN: Just another disclaimer here to say that I didn't write the majority of the letter, and so the words do not belong to me. Aaand I hope my lovely two readers are enjoying this story!