Note From Author: Hello, all! Butterfly here and now it's my turn! Muh-ha
ha.Once again, we do not own the Newsies---damn Disney does so enjoy and
review!!!
CHAPTER TWO
That night, Racetrack Higgins's head was clouded with wonderful dreams. These dreams could have brought on per chance by the fact that those two extremely odd girls had given him the winning horses at Sheepsheds for the previous day.
When he had gotten to the races, he still had been apprehensive about the whole thing. Papers that could see into the future? Codswallop, he had thought. Yet, he still had bet the last coins he had on the horse that was supposed to win, a horse named Trigger that had the worst odds possible. The man had laughed at him as he gave Race his ticket, and Race had sat in the stands, a sick feeling in his stomach. He could have been out selling his papes and making money, and yet here he was, having bet the rest of the money he had to his name, on the worst horse possible.
He had been in such a sad state, that he hadn't even heard the race start. He had been at his wits end, ready to leave, when he let his eyes flicker to the track. Trigger, his horse, had been in the lead. He had watched with bated breath as Trigger had rounded the track and as the horse won. He had jumped up and down like a mad man, catching some stares from others, as he then collected his winnings from the now-surly man who had laughed at him before. He had been in such an impossible state of euphoria, that that evening he had bought a round for everyone at Tibby's.
And now here he was, twisted in the blankets as he slept on the bunk under Snipeshooter, a smile plastered on his face and his right foot periodically twitching. Yet, the dreams could not last forever, and they ended, as he was roughly shaken awake.
He opened his eyes suddenly, seeing the dark outlines of the bunks in double vision. "Huh, wha'?" he murmured as he sat up suddenly in the bunk, banging his head against the top bunk.
"Damn it!" he cried, his hand going to his pate. He let out a muffled cry as he felt a hand press itself against his mouth.
"Shut it, will you?" a voice accompanied by a blast of hot breath hissed in his ear.
Race felt his body go lax as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The sounds of muffled sobs invaded his ears. He shifted his eyes so that he could see who the intruded was.
"Ew!" he shouted in a muffled voice. The girl that made up half the party of the future-telling newspaper stint was standing over him, her left knee settled on his bunk, her right foot planted on the ground, and her hand pressed tightley over his mouth.
The moonlight causing her penny-colored hair to glint, she stared down at him. "If I let my hand go, you have to promise not to yell."
Racetrack quickly nodded.
"Alright," she breathed, removing her hand. "Do not--"
"AHHHHHHH!"
The girl was interrupted by Race letting out a tremendous bellow. The girl let out a hiss as some of the newsies stirred.
"Goddamn you!" she spat, smacking her hand once again into place over his mouth, reducing the yells. "Come on!"
With one hand over his mouth and the other around his torso, she gave a mighty tug and drug Race across the floor and to the window with surprising strength.
She shimmied out the window, and then turned back to Race, who looked up at her as he sat under the window in a heap. "Come on," she growled, grasping him under the arms and pulling him out the window.
Racetrack let out a yelp as the girl suddenly let go of him when he was halfway out the window, causing him to land on the fire escape with a thud. Letting out a groan, he let his eyes roll up in his head, and seeing the impatient tapping of her dark leather boot.
"Come on," she said coldly, giving him a nudge in the head with her boot. "And while your at it, wake the whole damn town, why don't you?"
The platform vibrated under Race's head as her heavy boots stomped up the stairs to the roof.
With a moan, Racetrack rose wobbly to his feet, dazed by the blow to the head and the fact of being woken up in the middle of the night. Muttering and rubbing his pate, he walked the steps of the fire escape to the rooftop with a grudge. His mutterings deceased, however, when he heard hysterical sobs.
His hand dropped to his side as he stopped at the last steps, his eyes growing wide at what he saw. His abductor was standing over who was obviously the girl that had adorned the bitch boots previously. The former was crouched, an arm around the latter who was sobbing uncontrollably, her head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, and bright hair hiding her face from view.
"How cuh.cuh.could th...this h..h...happen?" the blonde sobbed.
"It doesn't have to, Sue, it doesn't have to," the copper haired girl replied. She then fixated her gaze on Race, her eyes narrowed, and slowly rose to her feet.
Race took a few uneasy steps forward. "Wh...what's wrong with her?" he asked. The girl snatched a paper from Sue's grasp and her boots echoed across the roof as she closed the gap between she and Racetrack. "Here," she said, shoving the pape in front of his face.
Race lowered his eyes from her burning green ones as he slowly took the pape. As his eyes scanned the headline, he felt like his stomach had dropped to the floor. "Oh, God, oh no!" he whispered, as his eyes reread the headline, trying to make what he beheld not true.
His arm fell limply to his side and his grip relaxed, causing the newspaper to flutter to the ground. The moonlight illuminated it, the black ink of the headline even louder: NEWSBOY RIOT ENDS IN SEVERAL CIVILIAN DEATHS. Above the screaming letters was a black and white photo of a juncture of streets in Brooklyn. Policeman like statues, scattered about the bodies of the dead that littered the street. Although the majority of the cadavers were that of newsies, several pedestrians lay dead, supposedly caught in the crossfire. The body of the Midtown leader, Oliver Haddox, lay sprawled on his back, a knife jutting from his back. But the sight that had sickened Racetrack most had been the body that was in the foreground. The distinguishable profile of Spot Conlon could be made discernable, his body in an impossible position, his garments and adjacent ground covered in a dark color-and a knife protruding from his heart.
"No, no, no," Race whispered, "it can't be. It just can't be. We knew dat Brooklyn and Midtown hated each odduh, but ta have a feud in da middle of a street."
He raised his disbelieving brown eyes to be met by the girl's somber green ones.
He furiously shook his head. "No, no."
"Yes, yes," she said softly.
He took a step back, shaking his head. "No, no! Spot can't die, he jist can't.Why is she cryin'?"
The girl looked over her shoulder at Sue, still gushing her eyes out. She turned to Racetrack to answer, when Sue interrupted her. She unsteadily stood to her feet and strode over to the pair, standing somewhat in front of the girl with the copper curls.
She turned her tear-streaked face to Race and looked at him with watery, vivid azure eyes. "You can't let him die! You can't let him die! He's.he's just too.too-HOT!" With that, she buried her head into the girl's shoulder, her sobs reaching a pitch.
The girl let out a sigh and turned back to Race, who was disbelieving.
"No.Spot can't die.he can't."
"He won't, Racetrack. You can save him."
Race stopped his stutters to lock eyes with the girl. "Who ARE you?" he cried. She let out a soft laugh. "I'm Mary and this is Sue. And, since Brooklyn meets Midtown at six fifteen, I'd say you got a hell of a job to do!"
Race took an uneasy step backwards. "How do I know dat all dis bullshit is true?"
A grim smile formed on Mary's lips. "Well, you could go back to bed, wake- up, go to the distribution center and see there if the headline was right of not. Or, you can get your ass to Brooklyn and save your friend."
His mouth fell, as if to say something, yet nothing came out.
Mary raised an eyebrow, stuck her index finger in her mouth and held it up in the air. "Well, Racetrack, if I'm not mistaken it'll be a wonderful day for a newsie massacre."
With this, Sue sobbed even harder.
"Are you sure this is true?" he asked.
Mary elicited a snort. "Was it true that you saved those three children? Was it true that you placed your bets on the worst damn horse and won?"
Race remained speechless and frozen
"Well, Race," she said. "I'd hurry if I were you. Midtown boys are probably on their way right now to pay your little friend and his newsies in Brooklyn a nice greeting."
He took a step backwards and then stooped down and snatched up the paper. His eyes fell to the picture and he felt revulsion course through his body once more.
His eyes connected with Mary's once more. "Go," she mouthed.
With that, Racetrack was flying down the fire escape, with Sue's sobs filling his ears, "Oh, save him, Racetrack! He's too hot to die!"
*** A horrible stitch in his side and breathing heavily, Racetrack reached the familiar structure of the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House just as the sun was awakening. Panting and his hands grasping his side, he struggled up the steps and stopped in front of the door. Placing one hand on his upper leg, he banged on the door with the other.
"Spot, Spot!" he shouted, banging wildly again.
He straightened, and his eyes fell to the windows on either side. It was completely dark inside.
"Oh, please, God, no," he murmured, kicking open the door.
Murmuring the same chant under his breath, he took the stairs two at a time and flew down the hall to where the bunkroom was stationed. He flicked open the door and felt nausea sweep over him.
"Oh, no."
The bunkroom was dark and deserted, save the shots of light that streamed in the window due to the ever rising sun.
CHAPTER TWO
That night, Racetrack Higgins's head was clouded with wonderful dreams. These dreams could have brought on per chance by the fact that those two extremely odd girls had given him the winning horses at Sheepsheds for the previous day.
When he had gotten to the races, he still had been apprehensive about the whole thing. Papers that could see into the future? Codswallop, he had thought. Yet, he still had bet the last coins he had on the horse that was supposed to win, a horse named Trigger that had the worst odds possible. The man had laughed at him as he gave Race his ticket, and Race had sat in the stands, a sick feeling in his stomach. He could have been out selling his papes and making money, and yet here he was, having bet the rest of the money he had to his name, on the worst horse possible.
He had been in such a sad state, that he hadn't even heard the race start. He had been at his wits end, ready to leave, when he let his eyes flicker to the track. Trigger, his horse, had been in the lead. He had watched with bated breath as Trigger had rounded the track and as the horse won. He had jumped up and down like a mad man, catching some stares from others, as he then collected his winnings from the now-surly man who had laughed at him before. He had been in such an impossible state of euphoria, that that evening he had bought a round for everyone at Tibby's.
And now here he was, twisted in the blankets as he slept on the bunk under Snipeshooter, a smile plastered on his face and his right foot periodically twitching. Yet, the dreams could not last forever, and they ended, as he was roughly shaken awake.
He opened his eyes suddenly, seeing the dark outlines of the bunks in double vision. "Huh, wha'?" he murmured as he sat up suddenly in the bunk, banging his head against the top bunk.
"Damn it!" he cried, his hand going to his pate. He let out a muffled cry as he felt a hand press itself against his mouth.
"Shut it, will you?" a voice accompanied by a blast of hot breath hissed in his ear.
Race felt his body go lax as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The sounds of muffled sobs invaded his ears. He shifted his eyes so that he could see who the intruded was.
"Ew!" he shouted in a muffled voice. The girl that made up half the party of the future-telling newspaper stint was standing over him, her left knee settled on his bunk, her right foot planted on the ground, and her hand pressed tightley over his mouth.
The moonlight causing her penny-colored hair to glint, she stared down at him. "If I let my hand go, you have to promise not to yell."
Racetrack quickly nodded.
"Alright," she breathed, removing her hand. "Do not--"
"AHHHHHHH!"
The girl was interrupted by Race letting out a tremendous bellow. The girl let out a hiss as some of the newsies stirred.
"Goddamn you!" she spat, smacking her hand once again into place over his mouth, reducing the yells. "Come on!"
With one hand over his mouth and the other around his torso, she gave a mighty tug and drug Race across the floor and to the window with surprising strength.
She shimmied out the window, and then turned back to Race, who looked up at her as he sat under the window in a heap. "Come on," she growled, grasping him under the arms and pulling him out the window.
Racetrack let out a yelp as the girl suddenly let go of him when he was halfway out the window, causing him to land on the fire escape with a thud. Letting out a groan, he let his eyes roll up in his head, and seeing the impatient tapping of her dark leather boot.
"Come on," she said coldly, giving him a nudge in the head with her boot. "And while your at it, wake the whole damn town, why don't you?"
The platform vibrated under Race's head as her heavy boots stomped up the stairs to the roof.
With a moan, Racetrack rose wobbly to his feet, dazed by the blow to the head and the fact of being woken up in the middle of the night. Muttering and rubbing his pate, he walked the steps of the fire escape to the rooftop with a grudge. His mutterings deceased, however, when he heard hysterical sobs.
His hand dropped to his side as he stopped at the last steps, his eyes growing wide at what he saw. His abductor was standing over who was obviously the girl that had adorned the bitch boots previously. The former was crouched, an arm around the latter who was sobbing uncontrollably, her head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, and bright hair hiding her face from view.
"How cuh.cuh.could th...this h..h...happen?" the blonde sobbed.
"It doesn't have to, Sue, it doesn't have to," the copper haired girl replied. She then fixated her gaze on Race, her eyes narrowed, and slowly rose to her feet.
Race took a few uneasy steps forward. "Wh...what's wrong with her?" he asked. The girl snatched a paper from Sue's grasp and her boots echoed across the roof as she closed the gap between she and Racetrack. "Here," she said, shoving the pape in front of his face.
Race lowered his eyes from her burning green ones as he slowly took the pape. As his eyes scanned the headline, he felt like his stomach had dropped to the floor. "Oh, God, oh no!" he whispered, as his eyes reread the headline, trying to make what he beheld not true.
His arm fell limply to his side and his grip relaxed, causing the newspaper to flutter to the ground. The moonlight illuminated it, the black ink of the headline even louder: NEWSBOY RIOT ENDS IN SEVERAL CIVILIAN DEATHS. Above the screaming letters was a black and white photo of a juncture of streets in Brooklyn. Policeman like statues, scattered about the bodies of the dead that littered the street. Although the majority of the cadavers were that of newsies, several pedestrians lay dead, supposedly caught in the crossfire. The body of the Midtown leader, Oliver Haddox, lay sprawled on his back, a knife jutting from his back. But the sight that had sickened Racetrack most had been the body that was in the foreground. The distinguishable profile of Spot Conlon could be made discernable, his body in an impossible position, his garments and adjacent ground covered in a dark color-and a knife protruding from his heart.
"No, no, no," Race whispered, "it can't be. It just can't be. We knew dat Brooklyn and Midtown hated each odduh, but ta have a feud in da middle of a street."
He raised his disbelieving brown eyes to be met by the girl's somber green ones.
He furiously shook his head. "No, no."
"Yes, yes," she said softly.
He took a step back, shaking his head. "No, no! Spot can't die, he jist can't.Why is she cryin'?"
The girl looked over her shoulder at Sue, still gushing her eyes out. She turned to Racetrack to answer, when Sue interrupted her. She unsteadily stood to her feet and strode over to the pair, standing somewhat in front of the girl with the copper curls.
She turned her tear-streaked face to Race and looked at him with watery, vivid azure eyes. "You can't let him die! You can't let him die! He's.he's just too.too-HOT!" With that, she buried her head into the girl's shoulder, her sobs reaching a pitch.
The girl let out a sigh and turned back to Race, who was disbelieving.
"No.Spot can't die.he can't."
"He won't, Racetrack. You can save him."
Race stopped his stutters to lock eyes with the girl. "Who ARE you?" he cried. She let out a soft laugh. "I'm Mary and this is Sue. And, since Brooklyn meets Midtown at six fifteen, I'd say you got a hell of a job to do!"
Race took an uneasy step backwards. "How do I know dat all dis bullshit is true?"
A grim smile formed on Mary's lips. "Well, you could go back to bed, wake- up, go to the distribution center and see there if the headline was right of not. Or, you can get your ass to Brooklyn and save your friend."
His mouth fell, as if to say something, yet nothing came out.
Mary raised an eyebrow, stuck her index finger in her mouth and held it up in the air. "Well, Racetrack, if I'm not mistaken it'll be a wonderful day for a newsie massacre."
With this, Sue sobbed even harder.
"Are you sure this is true?" he asked.
Mary elicited a snort. "Was it true that you saved those three children? Was it true that you placed your bets on the worst damn horse and won?"
Race remained speechless and frozen
"Well, Race," she said. "I'd hurry if I were you. Midtown boys are probably on their way right now to pay your little friend and his newsies in Brooklyn a nice greeting."
He took a step backwards and then stooped down and snatched up the paper. His eyes fell to the picture and he felt revulsion course through his body once more.
His eyes connected with Mary's once more. "Go," she mouthed.
With that, Racetrack was flying down the fire escape, with Sue's sobs filling his ears, "Oh, save him, Racetrack! He's too hot to die!"
*** A horrible stitch in his side and breathing heavily, Racetrack reached the familiar structure of the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House just as the sun was awakening. Panting and his hands grasping his side, he struggled up the steps and stopped in front of the door. Placing one hand on his upper leg, he banged on the door with the other.
"Spot, Spot!" he shouted, banging wildly again.
He straightened, and his eyes fell to the windows on either side. It was completely dark inside.
"Oh, please, God, no," he murmured, kicking open the door.
Murmuring the same chant under his breath, he took the stairs two at a time and flew down the hall to where the bunkroom was stationed. He flicked open the door and felt nausea sweep over him.
"Oh, no."
The bunkroom was dark and deserted, save the shots of light that streamed in the window due to the ever rising sun.