Act One: The Life of a Gambling Newsie

I've been a gambler since the day I was born. It's in my blood. Before I was a newsie, my pop would take me down to the racetrack every Sunday. I loved it. The sound of the horses thundering their hooves against the dirt, the feeling of counting the dough in your hand, the sweet smell of Corona cigars. My mother walked out on us when I was 5, so my pop kinda had to learn how to raise me alone. But I think he forgot about the lesson where you don't pass your bad habits to your kids. I remember when he bought me my first cigar. The pride in his eyes, that was the last time I saw him happy. The bills started piling up but because my pop couldn't seem to quit throwing his money away at the tracks, none of them got paid. His friends, who were like my uncles, decided to distract me by teaching me poker and how to 'pick' the luckiest horse. But I could still feel that something wasn't right. When I was 10, the cops busted down the door of our apartment and hauled my pop off to the slammer. I still remember the last thing he said to me.

"Son, no matter what, don't give up on yourself. You're a smart kid, and unlike your old-man you're gonna make it in this world. I promise you'll be ok. I love you."

"Come-on, Higgins, quit your yapping and get in the van!" the sheriff said cruelly. "Grizzwald, grab the kid and take him to the orphanage." Grizzwald headed straight for me, but I dodged him and headed for the door. He grabbed hold of my arm and I pulled away and ran across the street. "Don't waste you're time, Grizzwald. If he wants to die on the streets, let him. He's not our responsibility." I watched as they drove away. I never saw my pop again.

I was alone and it was raining bad. I knew I had to find shelter quick or I'd be soaked. I spotted Jacobi's Deli and ran inside. The place seemed slow at the time and I parked myself at a lone table. I pulled out a deck of cards and started shuffling, figured I'd play solitaire to calm my nerves. About 3 games later, some guys walk in and stood at my table. I flashed a smile at their glaring faces.

"Evenin' gentlemen. Can I'se help ya's?"

"You're sittin' at our table, boy." one said.

"Yeah but, dere's 3 of ya's. Dis table seats 4." I protested. Another squinted at me as if he was trying to remember something.

"I know I've seen you before." He said before his eyebrows shot up. "You're Higgins' boy! Raymond, Raymond Higgins!"

"In da flesh."

"Heard you're dear-ole-dad got locked up." the first guy said "His debts finally caught up to him, huh?"

"... Yeah." I answered, remembering what happened only hours ago. "Who want's ta play poka?"

I woke up the next morning with back pain and a stiff neck. As I stretched to relieve the pain from my muscles, I glanced at the window and saw an older boy yelling at people as they passed by. Occasionally, someone would stop and give him a coin for the rolled-up paper in his hand. Then they would go about their way and he would take another rolled-up paper from the bag hanging across his shoulder. Curious, I walked out the door and asked him what he was doing.

"Sellin' papes. What's it look like I'm doin'?"

"Sorry, I was jus curious is all."

"Oh. Say what's your name, kid?"

"Raymond Higgins, yours?"

"What a mouthful. Jus call me Beaver; all da oddah' newsies do. On accountah my buck tooth"

"What's a newsie?" I asked.

"I 'spose da proper term is Newsboy. We sell newspapahs, papes for short." Then Beaver got a glint in his eye. "Whadda say I shows ya how?"

"Really?"

"Why certainly." Just then, a lady with a big, fancy hat walked by. "Watch dis." Beaver whispered. He cleared his throat and strolled up to her. "'Scuse me, miss. May I offer you da mornin' news?"

"Depends, what's the headline?"

"Perkins' Hat Shop Opens!"

"What!?" The lady screamed. "That's my favorite designer! Here's a nickel, just give me a paper."

"Of course miss. Pleasure doin' business wit ya's." He said as he handed her the pape. After she was out of sight, Beaver turned to face me. "She really fell for it!"

"Fell for what?" I asked.

"Da lie I made up about da headline."

"You mean dere isn't gonna be a new hat shop?"

"No way! Da real headline is somethin' about a vaudeville theat'ah openin'. But ladies aren't really into dat kinda tang."

"But why lie about it?"

"Ya do what you have to ta sell papes. Dat means sometimes ya gotta stretch da truth ta make da news sound more appealin'." Beaver looked at me as if an idea was forming. "Where ya live, kid? Ya goes ta school?"

"My pop couldn't afford ta put me in school. And now he won't be able ta afford anyting since he's in jail."

"Hmm, sorry ta heres about your fath'ah. You'se got a place ta stay?" I shook my head. "Well I gotta get back ta work, but if you head left an take a right at Eldridge Park, you'll end up at a place that can help ya. See ya round, kid." I followed Beaver's instructions and found myself at the Newsboy Lodge House. I was introduced to all the newsies and soon became one myself. Racetrack, or Race for short, was the name they gave me and I've been usin' it ever since.

I'm baaaaaaaack! So, what you guys think? Good, bad, ? … Let me know, ok. There's more to come, but this story will most likely be shorter than the first so yeah. Anyway, don't forget to read, review, follow, favorite! - Cara