Hey there! Submitting this story as part of the Newsies Pape Selling Competition, huzzah! So this was written for Round One.
Assignment Two: Write about a newsie who is trapped by an incident in their lives and can't get away from it.
Word Count: 960 (even number, whoo hoo!)
Thanks for reading and enjoy!
Race can't believe it. Even after all this time on the streets death is still a shock. It isn't like he's never heard of anyone dying before. But most of that is rumors and this is fact. A cold, hard fact that he just can't wrap his mind around which is no doubt because he know that if he thinks about it, really thinks about it, he'll realize that it is his fault the boy is dead.
It had all started out simply enough with poker games. Just a few pennies here or there and Race relying on his uncanny ability to read people to turn the game any way he wanted. He trembles a bit inside as he thinks about how his ability had failed him and now a kid was dead.
It hadn't taken long before those few pennies here and there just weren't enough. Race caught him searching through the other's belongings for money. He remembered the wild look in the boy's eyes as he started asking about Sheepshead. Race feigned ignorance but the boy wasn't fooled. Surely a kid called Racetrack knew all about the ponies. It was the beer. He drank it to be hospitable.
One trip into Sheepshead turned into two, and then six, and then it became a daily thing. Race had to admit it must have seemed exhilarating to a new kid. Listening to gruff old timers discuss the latest hot tip, which jockey spent a bit too much time at the local pub, which horse was headed for the glue factory. Of course it was completely illegal, but that was part of the excitement. Until it wasn't all fun and games anymore.
The boy would meet him with bloodshot eyes and a new bruise or three. Race would try and reel him back away from the loan sharks. Back toward poker games out on the wharf or dice games down near Coney Island. Places that were dangerous, but not nearly as dangerous as the crew running the odds at Sheepshead. But the boy never listened. Race argued that he had a sister, a girl who needed looking out for. If he thought about it, really thought about it, he would have realized it was inevitable.
A glass of beer sits in front of him. It's warm. He drinks it anyway.
"You're sure?" he asks when he's finally able to form words.
"Ain't a doctor but I'm pretty sure when your brains is laying on the street…"
"God damn it, Spot."
"What?"
Race struggles to put two thoughts together. Maybe he can fix this. He should have tried harder but he knows there was nothing he really could have done. But now there might be a chance.
Of course he feels responsible. When he'd found the boy searching through the pockets of a drunk down at the train station he should have never thought to introduce him to Red. Little did Race know just how far in the boy was and how far he was willing to go.
It was supposed to help. Just get him enough out of the hole that the boy would realize how stupid he was being and give it up. Even Race knew when to call it a draw. Of course he also knew better than anyone what it felt like to always be searching for that next big thing. There always seemed to be the chance that the next race would be 'the one'. The one that would solve all your problems. The one that would allow you to get the hell out of this place and find someplace where you didn't go to bed hungry, worrying that the next day might be your last.
"Have you told her?"
There is the slightest crack in Spot's façade at the question but it is gone, replaced by the familiar look of contempt before Race can even register it.
"No."
Race twists the glass around in his hand and tries to calm the wild train of thought charging through his mind. If he can only make it up somehow, then it will all turn out okay. He can't bring the boy back from the dead, but he can try and pay off some of the debt the boy left behind. The methods used by these gangs are familiar enough to Race that he knows it might not end with the boy. If they were to find out he had a sister, well, Race can't bring himself to think of that.
The realization slowly forms in Race's mind and he understands that he has to leave Brooklyn. It's gut-wrenching and there isn't a part of him that thinks it's even possible for him to stay away completely. A couple of months ought to do it. At least that's what he tells himself. It'll give him time to save up enough money so that he can at least get the girl away from this madness. It'll be enough time for the truth to get buried under whatever rumors he can get Spot to help him create. By then he'll have money and a way out and be able to lessen the guilt he feels in this moment.
He'll go to Manhattan, after all it's the next best thing, and he's never really liked the way things are in Brooklyn anyway. It's a comfortable lie and at this moment he's willing to tell himself that he believes it. They aren't as familiar with his gambling style in Manhattan which will give him a chance to fleece a whole new set of kids. But the boy will haunt him at every turn and he knows it will be impossible to ever forget the role he played and the outcome of his gamble.
OK, so I will admit that the basis of this is a bit of an old story twisted into a new one. I'm sorry! I just finished a 28 page paper and I was exhausted so this got a bit wonky. Thank you for reading and goodnight ;-)