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Chapter 87: Calico
A nasty grin stretched across Skeet's face. "You holdin' first, Knuckles?" he inquired. "Or hittin'?"
"You go ahead," Knuckles answered cordially, as though the two of them were simply deciding on who would shoot first in a game of marbles. He tightened his grip on Davey, who found himself frantically wondering if it was worth it to try to strike first and then see if he could get away (when the likelihood of succeeding against three stronger opponents was nearly non-existent) or if it would hurt less in the long run if he didn't put up a fight.
From the looks on the Bronx newsies' faces, he was likely to be in a great deal of pain either way, so figuring he had nothing to lose, he raised his foot and then brought it down, stomping as hard as he could on Knuckles' boot. The angle wasn't ideal, but the element of surprise was on his side, and the burly newsie relinquished his hold, howling in surprise.
Davey elbowed past his off-balance adversary and managed to make it a few steps down the street before a sharp blow from Gar's club made him stumble, and then he was being hauled to his feet by the surprisingly strong leader of the Bronx, and Skeet was pinning him to the wall as he beckoned the limping Knuckles to come closer.
"Gonna let you do the honors, seein' as he stomped on ya," Skeet grunted.
Knuckles closed the distance, cocking back his fist. "Don't mind if I do."
Davey's body tensed and he reflexively shut his eyes in anticipation of the blow, but before it could fall, a voice suddenly interjected:
"Hold up there, Knuckles. I have a sneaking suspicion that you don't know whom you're dealing with."
Heart pounding, Davey opened his eyes and found himself face to face with Calico, the enigmatic newsie who had headed up the Bronx contingent on the night of the rally at Irving Hall. Where she had come from, and how she had managed to appear so quickly, he had no idea...but he was thankful for any intervention at that point, even if he still wasn't sure what to think about her.
Seeing the recognition in his eyes, the girl smirked. "Well, well, if it isn't Thimble." She stepped back a bit, giving him a deliberate once-over. "I thought it might have been you, but you didn't strike me as the type who'd be idiotic enough to sell on someone else's turf. I thought you were smarter than that."
"What are you talkin' about, Cal?" Gar demanded. "You know him?"
"He's the one who ran the rally in Manhattan," Calico explained. "He and Racetrack got the rest of the newsies to join the strike. You weren't feeling well that day, so I took a contingent down to represent us."
"Ah, right," Gar gave a curt nod. "Must've forgotten about that." He gave Davey a shrewd look. "If you's one of the leaders, you got even less excuse to be down here trespassin'' on someone else's turf," he said accusingly. "You oughta know better."
"Thimble's new around here," Calico interjected before Davey could say anything. "He hasn't really learned his way around yet, and you know how turbulent things were in Manhattan during the strike."
Gar grunted. "I don't care what kind of commotion was goin' on; Kelly's gotta learn not to send his boys out before teachin' them proper respect for our turf," he insisted. "If he ain't gonna respect the rules, his boys are gonna haf'ta learn the hard way." He nodded to Knuckles, who cocked his fist back, preparing again to strike.
"If you soak him, you'll have all of Manhattan at our door ready to brawl," Calico said calmly. "You know how protective they are - Kelly and Racetrack especially. If we let Thimble go, Manhattan will owe us one, but if we lay a hand on him, they're going to want revenge."
Gar gave her a suspicious look. "You seem a little too keen on makin' sure nothin' happens to this bummer, Cal," he remarked. "It ain't like you."
"Well, Racetrack's an old friend of mine," the girl shrugged. "He'd never let me hear the end of it if I didn't speak up. And besides, I think Thimble's learned his lesson." She looked Davey up and down, the slightly amused smirk never leaving her face. "It's obvious he's scared enough already."
Gar gave an impatient wave. "Fine. I ain't gonna stand here arguin' with you when we got papes to buy. But you'd better get him out of here and make sure he don't come back. Next time I see him on our turf sellin' papes again, he's gettin' soaked."
"I'll make sure that that stipulation is abundantly clear," Calico promised.
Gar grunted. "Let him go, Skeet." The burly newsie did as he was told, and without further ado, the leader of the Bronx and his henchmen headed down the street, not even sparing another glance in Davey's direction.
"Come along, Thimble," Calico said, digging her fingers into Davey's arm as she began pulling him down the street. "You don't want to try your luck now, do you?"
"N-no," he answered, still a little shaken by the whole encounter. "But that, um, won't be necessary," he added, gesturing with his free hand to the vice-like grip she still had on his arm. "I'm not going to run away."
She ignored the suggestion. "What were you thinking?" she demanded as they wove their way through the foot traffic on the streets. "You should have known better than to sell on someone else's turf. You would have completely deserved that soaking if I hadn't stepped in to stop it."
"I was looking for Race," Davey answered. "He went missing last night, and one of the boys thought he might have come here, so I came to see if I could find him."
"And you just conveniently decided that you'd sell your papers while you were at it?" Calico asked, turning over her shoulder and raising an eyebrow scornfully.
"I - well...yes. It was an honest mistake. I just wasn't thinking."
"Clearly," she scoffed. "For someone who's so smart, you could stand to learn a few things, Thimble."
"Any chance you'd like to start calling me by my real name?" Davey muttered half-heartedly. He didn't know what was worse, being called Thimble or the Walking Mouth. What was it with these newsie leaders and their proclivity for assigning derogatory handles?
"Any chance you'd like to stop acting like a complete coot?" was Calico's response to his suggestion. "Racetrack isn't here - we keep an eye on all the crossings, and we know who's coming in and out. You're the first Manhattan boy we've seen in days. He probably just decided he was tired of hanging around with you dullards and took off to Brooklyn to find some more interesting company."
"Brooklyn?" Davey echoed. "Is that where he usually goes?"
The look Calico gave him was decidedly unimpressed. "If you were really Racetrack's friend, you'd know the answer to that."
"He doesn't exactly talk much about his personal life," Davey retorted, feeling a little more justified in his ignorance as he remembered that Jack had said pretty much the same thing.
"Maybe you're just not asking the right questions," Calico countered accusingly. "You Manhattan boys are an unimaginative lot."
"You don't seem to think that about Race."
"He isn't a Manhattan boy," the girl answered shortly. "He's Brooklyn born and bred."
Davey didn't know how to reply to that.
"You really don't know anything, do you?" Calico scoffed, continuing to drag him along by the arm.
"I've been a newsie less than four months," Davey answered, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. "And my second day on the job we all went on strike. I didn't exactly have a traditional initiation into this profession."
"Your leader is supposed to catch you up to speed." The implicit criticism in the statement was unmistakable.
"Jack's been busy. He's had a lot on his mind."
"So does every leader who takes up command of a band of newsies. It's no excuse."
She spoke from the perspective of one who knew what she was talking about, and Davey tried to recall the scant bits of information that Race had given him about Calico and her role amongst the newsies of the Bronx. A figurehead - that's what Race had called Gar at the rally - and while Davey's encounter with the aforementioned leader and his associates only minutes ago had convinced him that Gar did, in fact, hold some sway, Calico clearly commanded a noticeable level of respect. But how had she come by that authority, and how did the others in her territory see her?
It was both confounding and complex, this world of the newsies, and while Davey knew that he was learning and that he was miles away from the naive and uninitiated boy who had asked about newspaper buy backs his first day on the job, a part of him wondered if he would ever truly get the hang of newsboy life. He'd pegged it as a simple, straightforward profession that warm night in July when he'd been forced to figure out how he was going to make ends meet for his family, but he'd quickly discovered that it wasn't simple at all.
And he clearly still had a lot to learn.
"Anyway," Calico said briskly, "if you do go to Brooklyn searching for Racetrack, maybe consider using your head, and don't sell papers on their turf. If you think Gar's bad, you should see how Spot handles interlopers."
"I definitely won't be making that mistake again," Davey answered wryly.
The Third Avenue Bridge came into view in the distance, and he felt himself relax a bit, though it was still slightly uncomfortable to have Calico dragging him along. Davey had caught several people giving them odd looks as they passed, and he was sure it must have been a perplexing sight, but there was nothing for it; the second-in-command of the Bronx had apparently determined that it was necessary to physically see him off of her territory.
Once they'd gotten within a stone's throw of the bridge, Calico abruptly released her hold.
"I'll let you find your way back from here, Thimble," she said shortly. "I'm fairly certain that even you won't be able to get lost when it's a straight shot back to your own side of the river."
"Thank you," Davey said, a bit grudgingly. He was thankful for Calico's intervention, but he wished that she didn't have to be so supercilious about it.
"Don't thank me," Calico replied dismissively. "Just don't let it happen again. These borders are well-patrolled - I actually keep an eye on the Third Avenue Bridge myself - so you're not going to be able to slip by again." She took a step back. "And the next time you're in a bind, I'm not stepping in to save you." So saying, she turned on her heel and walked away, quickly disappearing into the foot traffic passing by on the streets.
Davey made his way down to the bridge, not wanting to linger any longer than necessary (and half-certain that Calico or one of her newsies was watching him to make sure that he did, in fact, leave). He hurried across the river, not enjoying his return trip as much as his initial venture traversing it earlier that afternoon, and didn't breathe easy until he'd set foot on the opposite side. It was only then that he felt the rush of relief and nerves flood through his body. The confrontation with the newsies of the Bronx, the near-soaking and subsequently terse (if comparatively less threatening) conversation with Calico had been taxing, and he found himself needing to take a moment to process it all before he began the long walk back to Lower Manhattan. Besides, he hadn't eaten anything other than a few bites of bread that morning, and he was already beginning to feel the effects of his hunger.
As he began walking away from the river, Davey noticed that there seemed to be an expanse of greenery that surrounded the path leading up to the bridge. He hadn't paid much attention to it when he'd passed by earlier that day, eager to make it to his destination, but now he could see that it was subdivided into what seemed to be smaller fields and park areas. Several yards away, a family was enjoying a late-afternoon picnic lunch under the shade of several trees, and not far from there he could see a group of young boys play catch. There were even a few benches scattered around at intervals for sitting.
What was drawing his eye most at the moment, however, was the lunch wagon strategically parked by a pathway not a hundred yards away.
Davey reached into his pocket and pulled out some change, his stomach already growling in anticipation as he walked over. The selections that the lunch wagon offered were fairly limited, but he was thankful to have anything to eat at that moment, and after purchasing a sandwich and a cup of lemonade, he ambled over to one of the unoccupied benches to have a seat under the shade of a large sugar maple tree.
The sandwich was rather tasteless, but it eased his hunger pangs, and the lemonade was sweet and cold and quenched Davey's thirst, so he pushed aside the slight feeling of guilt for the unexpected expense. He was thankful to be back on friendly ground, and if he ended the day with a slight loss (and a little scuffed up), he wasn't ending it soaked, so that was something.
He still needed to figure out what had happened to Race, though.
Davey finished the last bite of his sandwich, crumpling up the paper wrapper and brushing the crumbs from his lap as he chewed. Despite the fact that he hadn't been able to locate the gambler in the Bronx (and Calico seemed to be sure that Race hadn't come that way), he was still convinced that Race wasn't in The Refuge. A visit to Brooklyn would probably be the next logical course of action, if Calico's assertion was to be believed, but Davey knew that he wouldn't be able to attempt the journey until the following day; he'd already used up the time he had with his trip to the Bronx, and needed to make it home for dinner and his tutoring session later that evening. It would probably also be best if he swung by the lodging house on his way back to the tenement to let Jack know about his plan; while the newsie leader didn't seem to be inclined to search for Race in any of the other boroughs, it couldn't hurt for Davey to give him the information, just so they didn't double-up their search efforts.
Knowing that he ought to get moving, Davey drained the last of his lemonade, but he found himself surprisingly loath to move from his spot. The murmur of the river and the sound of the breeze stirring through the tree overhead was soothing, his feet were tired from walking, and now that his stomach had something in it, he was beginning to feel a bit drowsy. If it wasn't for his responsibilities waiting back in Manhattan, he could have easily laid down right there on the park bench and taken a nap.
Normally, he would have pushed the thought aside and carried on, but for some reason, he lingered for a moment longer, taking in the peaceful sight of the park and its vegetation. The leaves of the sugar maple trees were aflame with the colors of fall, russet and gold and deep auburn, and the titian hue of some of the prettiest foliage reminded Davey of the ribbon in Sadie's boater hat.
She would love these trees, he thought, noting several low hanging and sturdy-looking branches. They're perfect for climbing. And I bet the view is great from up there.
He found himself smiling a little at the idea. Maybe Sadie's impulsive nature was rubbing off on him after all. There was a time, only months ago, when the prospect of tree climbing would not have appealed to him in the slightest; in fact, he would have regarded it as something pointless at best and dangerous at worst. But now…
You don't have time for that, Davey reminded himself. He had a long walk ahead of him, and the rest of his morning stock of papers to sell, and Jack to inform about the latest developments (or lack thereof) in the search for Race…
But still, one quick look wouldn't hurt...right?
Before he could talk himself out of the notion, Davey got up, threw away the trash from his meal, and returned the now-empty cup to the lunch wagon before walking over to one of the tallest trees. He stole a glance around, and then, having satisfied himself that the few people occupying the park were too engrossed in their own business to notice him, pushed his newsboy bag back so that it wouldn't be in his way and grabbed hold of the nearest low hanging branch, pulling himself up.
Climbing the tree was slow going at first; his arms had gotten much stronger from the last several months of carrying papers and working for Mr. Becker, but he wasn't familiar with the odd maneuvering that scaling the maple required, and it took some time to get used to. The furrows of the tree bark felt strange and rough beneath his hands, and the fluttering of the brightly-colored leaves disoriented him at first, but eventually he made it to a spot where there was a sturdy branch that he could sit on while still remaining relatively secure, and it was once he'd anchored himself there, some fifteen feet off the ground, that he allowed himself to finally peer through the foliage and take a look.
From his vantage point, he could see the boats passing by on the river, driven along at a brisk clip courtesy of the obliging wind. The Third Avenue Bridge with its large steel trusses looked even more impressive and grand from this perspective, and as Davey followed the structure's expanse to the opposite riverbank, he could see the buildings and streets of the Bronx in the distance.
It was a simple yet breathtaking sight.
Davey wasn't sure if it was the exhilaration (or perhaps the fear) of being up so high that was humming through him, or if it was merely the thrill of knowing that he'd just done something completely out of character, but he felt a sense of delighted satisfaction settle upon him as he took in the view, and he knew that the decision to indulge his passing whim had been worth it.
Maybe, he thought, as the breeze blew through his hair, there's something to be said for occasionally climbing a tree after all.
Jack strolled casually down to the corner of Duane Street, adjusting his cap on his head and peering through the twilight with an affected nonchalance. It wasn't unusual for him to be loitering outside of the lodging house, hanging around the front door and keeping a mental tally of the newsies as they returned from selling their papes for the day, but tonight he was only looking for one boy in particular, and so far, that boy had failed to show.
Turning around, Jack resumed his slow pacing. Most of the newsies were already back by now, and he knew that he ought to head inside, but he was reluctant to abandon his post. Crutchie and Buttons had yet to check in, and while they were typically the last ones back under normal circumstances, Jack had been antsy all day, Race's unexpected disappearance gnawing at him even while he'd put on a demeanor of unconcern for the sake of not worrying the rest of the lodging house.
If the gambler didn't show up that night, Jack would sneak into The Refuge the following evening to determine for himself if his lieutenant had been imprisoned there. The thought was daunting to say the least, but he knew that he had to face his fears. He wasn't going to let any of the other boys go in his stead.
Catching a familiar flicker of movement across the street, Jack looked over and saw Buttons making his way towards the lodging house. They exchanged their usual greeting, Jack affectionately giving the younger newsie a swat with his cap when Buttons delivered his usual (and predictably banal) joke of the day before heading inside, and then he was alone again, ambling through the deepening shadows, his movements slow and relaxed but his emotions completely on edge.
Several minutes later, he heard the bells of St. Peter's tolling the time, and he was about to turn around and go inside, thinking maybe he'd missed Crutchie during his initial count, when he heard someone calling his name.
Turning around, Jack was surprised to see Davey hurrying towards him.
"Hey, Davey - what'cha doin' here? Last I checked, home was that way," Jack joked, hooking a thumb in the opposite direction.
"I'm on my way there now," Davey said, sounding a little out of breath, "but I wanted to stop by and tell you something first."
"Is it about Racer?" Jack asked quickly.
"Yes - and no," Davey answered in his typically circuitous fashion. "I went to the Bronx today to try to find him - "
"You walked all the way up there?" Jack interrupted. "You didn't jump a trolley?"
Davey gave him a look.
"Right, I forgot you's the kinda guy who wouldn't do that sort of thing," Jack corrected himself. "But walkin' all the way to the Bronx, Dave? Just 'cause Albert had some kinda crazy dream? What were you thinkin'?"
"Whatever it was, it wasn't very well planned-out," Davey confessed, sounding a little sheepish. "I thought I'd sell my papers on the way there, and that worked out fine...until I actually reached the Bronx."
Jack groaned. "Oh no...you didn't try sellin' on their turf, didja?"
"I'd forgotten about that detail." Davey definitely looked embarrassed now. "And they made sure to let me know that they didn't appreciate it."
Jack gave him a concerned once-over. "Well…" he squinted, trying to see better in the dim lighting, "you don't look too bad. They go easy on ya?"
"They didn't soak me, if that's what you mean."
"Wait - what?" Jack gaped at him. "How'd you get outta that?"
"With my incredible powers of persuasion," Davey deadpanned.
"Hah. We both know you ain't that good."
"I was lucky," Davey admitted. "Calico stopped Gar and his cronies from beating me up."
Jack snorted. "Figures. Bet she took the occasion to tell you how much Manhattan stinks and what a lousy leader I am, too, huh?"
"We didn't exactly talk much," Davey deflected, but the look in his eyes told Jack what the tactful circumvention had failed to hide. "She was too busy reminding me of how stupid I was to sell papers on someone else's turf."
"Sounds like Cal," Jack muttered. He had no great love for the Bronx's second-in-command, a feeling that was certainly mutual.
"I don't get it," Davey said aloud. "I mean...it makes sense that every borough would have its own way of doing things...but Race said that Calico is the one who really runs the Bronx, even though Gar's officially their leader. Is it common for newsies to have that kind of division of authority?"
"The Bronx has always been different, least as far back as I can remember," Jack shrugged. "They had another fella over there who was leader for a long time - real tough, just like Spot. He got taken out in a turf war a couple of years back - surprised everyone, and shook up the newsies over there real good. Cal was leadin' the newsgirls in the area at the time, and their lodgin' houses is real close together, so she just kinda stepped in for a while 'till Gar showed up." Jack shook his head. "It weren't pretty, them tryin' to settle things. Gar ain't half as smart as Calico, but a lot of the fellas don't wanna be led by a girl. A few of them's real loyal to her, though...but not enough to take control away from Gar and the rest of the boys. Cal's kinda fallen into the role of second fiddle, but she ain't ever been happy about it, and from what Racer tells me, she steps on Gar's toes any chance she gets. That's probably why she stopped his posse from soakin' you." Jack shook his head. "I'm glad she did it in this case, but I can't say I agree with her underminin' Gar like that. Racer seems to think it's real entertainin', though. He and Cal go way back, and he don't like Gar much."
Davey looked thoughtful, but before he could say anything in reply, Jack heard the telltale tap of Crutchie coming down the street, and he turned to see the younger boy walking over, his empty newsboy bag hanging at his side.
"Evenin' Jack, Davey," he greeted them as he drew near. "You look like you's havin' a real serious conversation."
"Dave's confused about how the Bronx works," Jack explained.
"Oh, that." Crutchie nodded in understanding. "It ain't like Manhattan, huh Davey?"
"This bummer almost got soaked for sellin' on the wrong side of the river," Jack added, before Davey could reply. "Pretty sure he misplaced at least half of his brain, headin' up to the Bronx like that and then tryin' to peddle his papes." He gave Davey a good-natured cuff on the head. The dark-haired newsie was too tall for the effect to work well, but he still managed to look slightly chastened at the teasing reprimand.
"You tried to sell on their turf?" Crutchie's eyes widened in disbelief. "You got a death wish or somethin', Davey?"
"Yes, I tried to sell on their turf, no, I don't have a death wish, and thank you for your concern," Davey responded, clearly ready to be done with the subject of his appalling lapse in judgment. "I was trying to find out if they knew anything about Race, since Albert thought maybe he'd headed that direction."
Crutchie shook his head. "You can't put much stock in Albert's dreams, Davey," he warned. "Half the time they don't make sense, and the other half the time he's just lyin' about 'em to rile up Race or the rest of the boys."
"Speakin' of Race," Jack said, returning to the original subject of the discussion, "didja find anything out on your trip, Dave?"
"Nothing of substance," Davey answered, and Jack could tell that he was disappointed. "Calico said they hadn't seen him in the Bronx, and she mentioned something about Race possibly going to Brooklyn instead, but that's all I managed to find out. I wanted to tell you though, Jack, in case you were considering the possibility of widening the search beyond The Refuge…" Davey trailed off, then added quickly, "and if no one else is planning to go to Brooklyn….I'm going to head over there tomorrow to see if Spot or any of his newsies can help us if Race hasn't shown up by then."
Jack and Crutchie exchanged a surprised look. Who would have thought that the cautious, easily-unnerved Davey would be the first one volunteering to go to Brooklyn to seek an audience with the most intimidating newsie of them all?
"Davey...after what just happened today, do you think that's a good idea?" Jack queried.
The older Jacobs brother rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to try to sell my papes on their turf, if that's what you mean - "
"Not just that," Jack interjected. "I mean goin' on a wild goose chase like this. You don't know Racer's in Brooklyn."
"With all due respect, Jack, you don't know he's in The Refuge, either."
"It's more likely than him just moseyin' off to socialize with Spot and all his cronies," Jack said firmly. "What would he be doin' out there in the middle of the night? The track ain't open."
"I...I don't know!" Davey exclaimed, a bit of frustration leaking into his voice. "I just have this feeling, all right? I can't explain it." He pulled off his cap and ran a hand through his hair before settling the hat back atop his head. "I just want to make sure we've covered all of our bases," he said a touch more calmly, clearly trying to reign in his agitation. "And I want to do my part to help find Race. If something happened to me, I know the rest of you would have my back."
"Course we would," Jack said quickly, glancing at Crutchie for agreement, but to his surprise, the normally affable newsie said nothing, seemingly preoccupied with adjusting his grip on his crutch.
"Anyway," Davey continued, "I know most of the boys don't like going to Brooklyn, so that's why I figured I'd volunteer." The words were straightforward, but Jack could tell that Davey was nervous about the prospect despite his effort to make it seem like he wasn't. "I'll sell in the morning and then head over to Brooklyn in the afternoon. If I discover anything about Race's whereabouts, I'll let you know."
"Fine," Jack acquiesced. He wasn't thrilled with the idea, but he had to appreciate Davey's gumption. "You ain't walkin' there, though."
"My legs work just fine, Jack."
"Yeah, but you's gonna lose another whole afternoon of sellin', and you's already short from doin' that today," Jack pointed out. "If you's gonna take it on yourself to look for Racer for the rest of us, we can help you out a little and spring for the trolley fare. It'll cut down your travel time and give you more daylight to sell."
Jack turned to Crutchie. "We got enough in the Newsie Fund to cover Dave's fare, right?"
Crutchie looked conflicted, and it took a moment for him to answer. "Actually…" he said hesitantly, "the Fund's runnin' kinda low right now…"
"That's all right," Davey said quickly. "I'll make do." He gave them a half-smile. "Anyway, I'd better get going now - my folks will be waiting. But I'll see you both tomorrow morning at the circulation gate." And abruptly he turned and began walking down the street in the direction of his family's tenement.
Jack watched him go, a little puzzled by the sudden departure. It wasn't unusual for Davey to cut off a conversation if he was uncomfortable, but what did he have to be uncomfortable about?
It had to be the money, Jack decided. Davey was touchy about accepting charity from anyone, and he probably hadn't liked the idea of imposing on the newsies by drawing from their reserve fund. The entire situation wasn't ideal; Jack knew that Davey really couldn't afford to be losing half a day's pay for the sake of his investigation in Brooklyn, and he had hoped to at least help offset some of that with his suggestion about the trolley, but clearly Crutchie didn't think it was a wise decision, and no one was forcing Davey go to Brooklyn, after all…
But Jack couldn't help but admire the other boy's determination, even if he personally maintained that the idea was ill-founded.
"That bummer sure's got a lot of nerve," he declared proudly as he watched Davey turn the corner and disappear from sight.
"Yeah," Crutchie muttered. "He sure does." There was an almost weary note in his voice, and Jack looked at him in surprise.
"You feelin' okay, Crutchie?" he asked, concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Jack," the other newsie answered quickly. "Think I'll just head inside to say hello to the fellas and rest my leg a bit." He turned and limped towards the entrance of the lodging house, his evasive retreat only furthering Jack's bafflement.
Both of his two remaining lieutenants seemed to be out of sorts, and he had no idea why.
Hopefully Race would show up soon, Jack thought as he resumed his pacing up and down the almost-darkened street. He knew that it wasn't likely...but he could hope. And maybe, if he stayed outside for just another few minutes, he'd be treated to the welcome sight of Race sauntering towards the lodging house, all good-natured snark and bravado...and then everything would all be put to rights again.
A/N: Our upcoming chapter will feature a bit of Davey/Sadie followed by a trip across the Brooklyn Bridge. If you have a moment to spare, I'd be ever so grateful if you'd leave a review letting me know what you thought of the latest installment! I've really enjoyed reading your conjectures about the thief's identity and what happened to Racetrack, as well as everything else that's been shared. Thank you! :)