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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.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
"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.
