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Walk A Mile on My Route

* Part 1 *


The rhythmic, measured pace of a horse's hooves against the cobblestone pavement was enough to put any bloke to sleep. It was getting so bad that Racetrack had to fight to keep his head from sagging back against the brick wall behind him. Slipping off into dreamland didn't get your papes sold, he knew, but the lure of catching a few winks was hard to resist.

"'Ey, Sleepin' Beauty, yous just gonna sit dere all day?"

"Lemme alone, Mush. I ain't in da mood."

Chuckling, the brown-haired Newsie, affectionately nicknamed Mush, due to his tendency to go all gooey around pretty girls, crossed his arms and shook his head.

Taking his friend's silence to indicate submission, Racetrack settled back down, cap pulled low over his eyes. Just as he was on the verge of sleep once again, however, the cap was yanked off his head. Sticking a hand up to block out the sun, Race took off after the cap-snatcher. "Mush!!! I'll get ya for dat!"

As the two boys raced off, they just missed catching sight of a fine carriage plodding through the streets. The late afternoon sun glimmered off the chrome headlights as two perfectly matched stallions threw their heads, snuffling the stale New York City air in distaste. The inhabitants of the carriage appeared to echo the sentiments of the horses. A very well dressed family stepped out, a father, son, and wife, their nostrils instantly
offended by the 'fragrant' air.

"Mercy." The woman, decked out in a crisp white muslin dress, instantly snatched up a lace handkerchief and held it to her nose. "Bless us and save us! This city will be my death. Stanley, darling? Must we stop right here?"

A stately looking man with a neatly trimmed mustache brushed a thin layer of dust from the back of the first horse. "Not long, Beulah. I just have to stop a moment at the store. You could have always waited in the carriage." His voice betrayed the smallest amount of annoyance.

"Father, I don't like it here." The little boy whined, clinging to his mother's sleeve. "I want to go home now."

"In a moment, Antoine."

"NOW!" He persisted.

Stanley stiffened. "What have I told you about such behavior in public?"

"NOW NOW NOW!"

Racetrack rounded the corner, hat planted firmly back on his head after rescuing it from Mush's hands. He was instantly brought up short by what he saw... and moreso by what he heard. Dear me. Looks like we'se got a case ah spoiled brat on our 'ands. Wonder why dey don't jest slap da little scab an' be done wid it.

"NOW!"

The older man Race had noticed, turned abruptly on his heel and marched into the general store. Almost at the same time, the woman stepped back into the carriage, slamming the door behind her.

If da parents don't wanna deal wid deir own kid, I will. Race casually walked over, approaching the tantrum terror from behind. He was right on top of the boy before ever uttering a sound. "Wanna buy a pape, kid?"

"'Pape'?" The child spit the word out as if it were an overly ripe lemon. "No, I don't want to buy one of your filthy papers. Now kindly leave here before I---"

"Before ya what? Pout me ta death?" Race chuckled. "I'm shakin'."

"Leave. Now."

"Free sidewalk--" Race started to speak and then scratched his head. "Can't say as I caught ya name, kid."

"You're a Newsie, right? My grandfather owns a large factory in Philadelphia. I have money. Lots of it. What have you got, Newsie?"

A second set of hands clamped themselves on the boy's shoulders. "Friends. Which I can't say as you 'ave any of, Antoine."

Race chuckled. "Heya Jack. 'Antoine' 'ere was jest sayin' 'ow 'e owns 'alfa somethin' called Phila Del Phia."

"Dat so?" Jack Kelly pulled his cowboy hat up onto his head, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes.

"I remember you! Disgusting little ruffian. I should have known you would be associated with this thing." Antoine pointed to Racetrack.

"Ouch. Now dat hurt." Race laughed.

"You tried to steal from my mother yesterday." Antoine glared at Jack. Jack shrugged. "If dat's whatcha wanna call it, sure." He began walking in a slow circle around the rich socialite, lessening the distance between them with each pass.

"That's exactly what I'd call it."

"Den explain ta me 'ow she 'as 'er purse right now?" Jack stopped in his tracks, directly behind Antoine. "If I wanted it so bad," he leaned in, "it was pretty dumb a'me ta jest give it back like dat. Now... dis would be stealin'." He snatched the wallet out of Antoine's back pocket and tossed it to Racetrack.

"Hey! Give that back!"

Racetrack and Jack took off down the street, rounded the corner of a narrow alleyway and disappeared. Antoine took off in hot pursuit, catching fleeting glimpses of the boys as he ran. He laughed when he realized something. This alley was a dead end. It paid to have an actual education. Those street kids would run straight into a brick wall or something -- signed, sealed, and delivered for the police.

The end of the road lay dead ahead and Antoine could almost hear the bailiff announcing Jack Kelly's jail sentence. At least, he could until both boys suddenly leapt into the air, scaled the wall, and landed safely on the other side. Antoine swore over his rotten luck, tripped on the uneven cobblestones, and landed face first in a pile of trash. He attempted to push himself to his feet, but a large gash on his forehead had other plans. Darkness closed in around him, and his body went limp.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Antoine came to slowly, only to find two particularly nasty looking street boys standing over him. Uh-oh..

"Now what's dis?" Oscar Delancy kicked at Antoine's weak body with the toe of his shoe. "Someone leavin' their trash out overnight to rot, I'm t'inkin'."

His brother, Morris, chuckled. "Uh-huh. Overnight ta rot!"

Definitely not the sharpest tack in the barrel. Antoine decided he would try and reason with these fellows. "Hello. I was wondering if you might direct me to the nearest hospital. See, I've got this terrible headache and I fear I may have---"

"'Ey! Who said youse could talk?" The first Delancy snarled menacingly and kicked him harder than before. "Youse is gonna stay down til my bruddah an' I can figure out what we wants ta do wid ya."

How about sending me home? Antoine thought to himself anxiously. He stood up and cleared his throat. "You lay a hand on me and my father will---"

"Ooooo! 'E's makin' wid da t'reats now. Ow nice." Oscar pulled out a set of brass knuckles and punched the boy across the jaw. As he pulled his hand back, blood streaked down his hand and onto the cuff of his sleeve. "Now look whatcha did. Got my favorite shirt all dirty. Whatcha fixin' to do 'bout dat, runt?"

Antoine held his jaw, a fire burning in bones which he could only assume, if not broken, were pretty darn close to it. He was small for his age, and wasn't what one would call muscular, but he was certainly no runt! "I... would gladly... reimburse you for the shirt... but you must understand---" His words came out slowly, jaw throbbing to the point that he could barely get them out at all.

"'Reimburse'. Dis guy talks funny."

Morris guffawed. "Funny talker."

"Rich kid too. Look at dose clothes." Oscar continued, pointing to the boy's ivory colored satin vest, buttoned up over an even whiter dress shirt. Completeing the ensemble were a pair of white knickers with knee socks and buckled shoes. "Not ta mention da way he talks." He landed a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's yer name, Rich Kid?"

Antoine straightened as best he could with Oscar pressing down on him. "Antoine Bernard Smith... the fourth." Something in his mouth was swelling, he realized. Talking wasn't going to be an option too much longer.

"Pretty name too." Oscar added. "Scab."

"Pretty enough ta break 'is legs?!" Morris asked hopefully.

Oscar chuckled. "I think so. I do think so."

The boys closed in and Antoine backed up. This was not looking good. Just keep enough space between yourself and the ruffians and---- He winced as something came down hard on his right knee and he both heard and felt the bones crack.

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"Hey Jack." Kid Blink called from his bunk. "Ow'd it go t'day?"

Race flopped down on his bunk, directly under Blink's, and made a face in disgust. Kid's smelly feet were dangling over the edge, and right in front of his eyes. "Move dose feet."

"Or else what?" Kid brought his feet up and stuck his head over the side instead. "You'll tickle me ta death?"

Jack grinned and hung up his hat as he walked in. "Careful whatcha wish for." He stepped over and grabbed Kid by the foot.

"'EY!" He burst into fits of giggles as Jack mercilessly attacked his feet. "Stop! I'm dyin' 'ere!"

The strangled laughter of torturer and torturee bounced off the walls as Boots and Skittery rushed into the room, slamming the door behind them.

Jack dropped Kid Blink with a thunk.

"'Ey! Ouch!"

"You'll get ovah it." Jack shook his head. Wimp. Where's da foiah, boys?" He asked.

"Delancys." Skittery gasped. "Alleyway offa 43rd.... dey got some kid who was dumb enough ta land in deir territory."

Race glanced over at Jack. It couldn't be. That Antoine kid wouldn't have been dumb enough to stick around there, would he? They had tossed his wallet back over the wall to show him that it was just a joke, and someone had caught--- Oh no.

"Boy a'we stupid." Race groaned and glanced over at Jack.

"Well, didn't we a'ready know dat?" Mush sat up in his bunk, hearing something that was finally worth paying attention to. Everyone glared. "What?"

Jack and Racetrack rushed out the door and were halfway down the stairs when Kloppman, the bunkhouse keeper, called to them. "Where dya think ya boys are going?"

"Jest... out for a lil' stroll, s'all." Jack bit his lip, knowing that even this delay was enough to get Antoine seriously dead. He had wanted to play around with the stuffy little kid a little, but killing him hadn't been on the agenda.

"Oh no ya don't. Ya know the rules. To bed with ya! Bed!" Kloppman shoed them back up the stairs.

"Great. Now what?" Race muttered as they walked back up the stairs.

"Foiah escape. S'only way down at dis hour."

"Little runt sure is a lotta trouble."

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The whole world spun and appeared to have a hazy glow about it. Was this what it felt like to be dead? No. You'd see your dried out carcass laying around somewhere. One of those out-of-body experiences. He moved his head slightly to look for said carcass, and his eyes landed on a leg splayed out behind him. It was in bad shape. The knee cap was busted in and the whole appendage was bent around in a way that no human limb should have been. It was intensely fascinating, while still being grotesque. Whoever belonged to it was going to be in a lot of pain.

Suddenly, a pair of voices brought Antoine back into focus. They were coming closer. If it was those newsboys again, he was going to let them have it for leaving him alone with those hoodlums.

"Dere 'e is!" A voice belonging to the Newsie Jack had called Racetrack echoed off the brick walls.

Jack Kelly came into his line of sight first. He looked sick, and for the first time, Antoine figured out why. The cowboy's gaze was drawn to the leg. My leg. Antoine realized with horror.

"Now calm down." Racetrack caught the panic-stricken expression in the boy's eyes. "Panicin' ain't gonna do a bit a'good."

"Fine thing for you to say! It isn't YOUR leg scattered about the pavement!" Antoine cried indignantly.

"It ain't scaddahed. Keep yah shoit on." Jack muttered and bent down to try and pick Antoine up.

Antoine balked and inched away. "You aren't going to touch me!"

Jack grabbed Antoine by the front of his shirt. "Now listen tah me. I ain't gonna play games wid ya. Dat leg is in bad shape. Ya moight jest loose it if we don't do somethin' 'bout it. Now jest SHUT UP an' listen for a change. Race an' I are gonna take ya back to da Lodgin' House."

"No you aren't! You're going to take me hospital. Now!"

"Aw, quit it, already will ya? I'm sick of dis crap comin' outta ya. You want dem Delancy's ta come back an' find ya 'ere?" Racetrack bent down.

Antoine shook his head, fear instantly replacing the panic in his eyes.

"Didn't t'ink so. Now lay back an' shut yer yap. Dis might sting for a bit." Race carefully moved the leg around and back into something close to it's normal orientation. Antoine grimaced. "Sorry." Race added as an afterthought. "Alright, now we'se gonna move ya. Old on." Jack came back into Antoine's line of sight.

On three, Racetrack and Jack scooped the boy up and carried him off down the street, taking care to avoid jostling the badly damaged leg at all costs.