"How many papers you got there?" Max said, gesturing to the box at Timmy's feet. Timmy knelt down and counted. "Seven." The boy already knew the number, but had wanted Max to see him bend over and watch the drops dangling from the tip of his cap.

"How'd you like to bring them over to the building? You should be able to unload all of them easily enough." "Gee... I'm not supposed to go inside the offices. That's another kid's territory. I could get into trouble."

"No you won't. We never have anyone come in to sell papers. Whoever covers our building must run out before he gets to us. Come on, you might be able to go home early."

Timmy gathered the remaining papers from beneath the crate then picked up the tin can holding his money and pocketed it. He tipped the box against the building and the two stood at the corner, waiting for a break in the traffic before crossing the street. They continued to the end of the next block. Upon reaching Max's building, he directed the boy to turn the corner.

"We have to go in the back way. The boss doesn't like us to track up the lobby," Max said, directing the newsboy to the alley entrance.

"Are you sure this is going to be all right?"

"No problem. He's not going to be there. He's gone for the day, but his secretary is still around, and she'll say something. She's not a bad gal, just likes to keep the lobby looking nice."

"Well, I don't care how we get there, but we better do it soon. If it rains any harder these papers aren't going to be worth reading," Timmy replied. He noticed that, unlike the front entrances, many of the rear doorways gave no clue as to where they might lead.

As they walked through the alley, Timmy clenched the flaps of his jacket tightly against his body, attempting to keep the remaining copies dry. The boy kept two steps behind Max, hoping to be directed through one of the many unmarked doors. To the left and right of each doorway were sets of trashcans, waiting to be carried to the mouth of the alley at the end of the week. It had been a number of days since the last pick up, and the rain had amplified the odor, encouraging the two to walk faster.

At the end of the alley were six doors awaited. Two were marked with signs over their frames, one a bakery and the other leading into the Woolworth's. A third door was boarded up.

"Here we are," Max said. He searched for his keys, first checking the pockets of his coat, then his pants. "Damn! I must have left them on my desk."

"Why don't you just knock?"

"No good. This door leads into the supply room. There's probably no one in there. Gee, you're getting all wet." Max made a second attempt to find his keys. "Hey, I'm sorry Timmy--we should have gone in the front way."

"What do we do now? My papers are getting soaked! No one's going to want to buy them now," Timmy said mournfully.

"Okay, listen-this is my fault. I'll give you the money and a nice tip. You've got seven papers, right?"

"Yes, sir-seven."

"Fine. I don't really need more than one, so you can toss the rest in that can and I'll give you the money," Max said, pointing to a nearby receptacle. "Let's see, seven papers at a dime each, and those guys I work with are big tippers. All I got is a fin. Think that should cover it?" he said, pulling his wallet from his rear pocket.

"Geese, five dollars! I have change, if you want some back."

"Naw, I'm having a good week. I just feel bad about getting you all wet. Whether it's raining tomorrow or not, we can go in the front door, okay?"

Timmy placed the money in the front pocket of his trousers, and then walked toward a set of trashcans standing outside the rear door of the bakery. He opened his coat, pulled out the wet papers and tossed the stack inside. His back was turned to Max when the blow came.

As he fell into unconsciousness, Timmy caught a glimmer of metal before his eyes shut. It was the lid from one of the other trashcans. The newsboy would never know that between that moment and the time, a few hours later, when Jose Martinez walked out the back door of the Sunshine Bakery, carrying a sack of bad flour to the garbage, his life, as well as the five dollars, would be taken from him.