Brewin' in the Boroughs

Chapter 1

It was a hot day, hotter than usual, meaning that the streets also stunk more than usual. Finch tugged at the collar of his shirt as he hurried down the busy streets towards the lodging house. Today he'd been lucky and there'd been a good headline, resulting in him finishing selling an hour before he normally would. A small smile crossed his face at the thought of getting back to the lodge, maybe going to Jacobi's with the boys...

"Hey Finch, wait up!" Finch looked over his shoulder and slowed down when he saw Sniper, cap clenched in his fist,  pushing around people and  trying to catch up. After a minute the younger boy reached Finch's side, smiling at him.

"Hey Snipes, how was sellin'?"

"Pretty good, I finished 'bout an hour ago."

"An hour ago? Where were you sellin'?"

"I was over in Midtown." Sniper said as he swept a few curls out of his eyes.

"Midtown?" Finch had to admit that he was surprised. Though Sniper was thirteen, and very independent, he had never really strayed far from the lodge without any of the older boys. "What were you doin' there?"

Sniper let out an exasperated sigh. "I told ya I was sellin'!"

Finch shook his head, but smiled at the boy. They walked in silence for a minute. Sniper once again reached up to brush his hair out of  his face, only to have the stubborn locks immediately fall back into his eyes.

"Might 'ave to get this cut soon, huh," Finch chuckled, ruffling Sniper's hair.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, swatting away Finch's hand while rushing a few steps ahead of him. "My hair's fine Finch, leave it alone!" Finch laughed and after a minute Sniper gave a small grin in return.

While Sniper was ahead of him, Finch took a minute to do a quick scan of the boy, trying to find a bruise or slight limp, anything that might suggest that he was hurt or sick. He seemed fine but Finch could see something in his pocket, and, remembering a recent conversation he'd had with Jack, he couldn't help but feel suspicious.

"Whatcha got there?"

The boy turned to look at him, brow crinkled in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"What's in ya pocket?"

At that, Sniper's eyes widened. "Nothin'," he responded quickly.

"C'mon Snipes, hand it over," Finch said, eyebrow raised. Sniper reluctantly reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar, placing it into Finch's outstretched hand.

"Where'd you get this, Snipe?" Finch sighed. The boy didn't answer, only shrugged and looked away. "You know Jack don't want you smokin'!"

"But Race does!" Sniper cried, turning to face Finch.

"Race is older than you. When you're older you can start doin' what you want too."

Sniper's shoulders slumped and he kicked at the ground while Finch tucked the cigar into his own pocket. Maybe he could make a trade with Race later on...

*****

After a bit more walking, the lodging house came into view. A group of the older newsies stood in front around the door, having finished selling their daily papers. As they drew nearer to the boys Finch placed his hand on Sniper's shoulder and gave him a slight shove toward the door.

"Why don't ya go inside and play cards with Tommy Boy."

"Fine," Sniper grumbled, heading into the lodge. Finch made his way over to the boys, nudging Henry to the side to make room for himself.