CHAPTER TEN
Horance Lyner let out a deep sigh-a sigh that seemed more like a growl coming from him.
He continued pushing his way through the hurried pedestrians. He was becoming frustrated. The high August sun was starting to take its toll on him.
Horance had begun his journey from Queens to Manhattan early that morning, and even then, the early sun was blazing. He had set out before Rylie had woken for he had no desire whatsoever to hear his brother's rants on his hatred of Sarah Sprites. He had already heard them plenty for the past two years, no scratch that, even longer than that. Since Jimmy Sprites had been alive and his sister at his side. But then Sprites had been killed and his sister run out. Rylie would occasionally gripe about her, but no more than that.
His rants had taken a head when a group of newsies still loyal to Jimmy Sprites revolted against Horance and his brother. They actually took out some of his brother and his newsies. Rylie had warned them to stop, but they hadn't. So, he stopped them by putting a bounty on their beloved Sarah Sprites's head.
Horance took his derby cap off his head and wiped the perspiration off his brow with his forearm. It sure was hot out. And it sure wasn't fair that HE had to go to Manhattan to track down Sprites and kill her. In fact, it wasn't fair at all, and all for the fact that he didn't want to murder Sarah Sprites by his own hands.
If Jasper Johnson and Ulf Uberstein, who had been two of Horance's closest friends, had done the job right, then he wouldn't have to do it. And Rylie wouldn't be as furious. He was furious over the fact not that his newsies had killed an innocent girl, but that they had brought suspicion to Queens with their clumsiness.
The heat was unbearable on Horance. He unbuttoned his plaid shirt as quickly as he could, revealing an overheated yet built chest. He quickly stuffed it in his back pocket, a back pocket which also contained Rylie's cherished knife-the knife Horance was to use to slay Sarah Sprites and she same blade that caused the fall of her brother.
He let his hand linger on the hilt as he aimlessly wandered to Manhattan. All he could imagine at this moment was if he would really drive that blade into Sarah Sprites. He shook that thought out of his mind as he quickly let go of the knife.
Rylie had told him not to fail. And there was a great possibility that that would occur. Rylie speculated that Sarah Sprites was in Manhattan just because of some thin story he had heard through the grapevine. Although he was noted for having a brain on his head, Horance had one too. Underneath all the force, he had a brain. What made Rylie so sure that she was in Manhattan? It was one chance in a million.
Horance wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his arm once again. Even if Sarah Sprites was in Manhattan, he didn't look forward to murdering her in his own hands, anyhow. She had saved his life once.
A few years back, Rylie had gotten into trouble with Midtown in a poker game. He had bet big and lost big. And he had't paid the debt. Horance had been walking about in the dark one night when he was struck over the head. It turned out that Midtown had sent their two most thuggish newsies to collect their money--and it really didn't matter which Lyner they snared.
They had demanded their money, but Horance hadn't had any. He knew he probably would have been dead, if it hadn't been for Sarah Sprites showing up out of the blue. She surprised the two Midtown newsies by striking them in the back of the heads with a plank of wood and had actually drug Horance's 220 lbs. somehow back to Lyner headquarters. Although he had been drifting in and out of consciousness, Horance remembered that she had knocked quickly on the door and ran like hell out of there.
Horance sighed and picked up his pace. His goal was to reach Manhattan by nightfall. And even if he did, he knew Sarah Sprites probably wouldn't be there. If he was her, he would be as far away as Queens as he could.
The truth was that Sarah Sprites was indeed in Manhattan, although she wouldn't be there much longer.
******
Butterfly pulled away from the kiss.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered heavily into Racetrack's ear, "Col, I wanna go somewhere where I'se can see ya."
Race was taken aback. He was thankful for the blanket of darkness for her didn't want her to see the shade of scarlet his body had turned.
In the darkness, his clammy hand found hers and he once again pulled her down the fire escape and through the window to the bunkroom. But there was something odd.
"Where are all da guys?" Racetrack exclaimed.
"Who cares about dem?" Butterfly replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and moving her mouth down to his throat.
"BUTTAHFLY!" he exclaimed at he audacity.
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Ya don't like it?"
"Oh, God no! I like it, it's just." he blurted, then caught himself. "It's jist."
"Just what, Col?" Butterfly asked, running her finger down his chest.
Racetrack stepped back. "It's jist dat I'se wit Annie."
That didn't defer Butterfly. A gleam in her eye, she leaned forward and passionately kissed him. "Are ya shoah?" She stepped back.
Racetrack groaned due to spite of his conscious. To give in or not to give in?
Starting from her toes, Racetrack's eyes wandered up her whole body, his desire growing stronger every growing moment. He just couldn't resist temptation any longer when he saw the wicked gleam in her eye.
"Screw Annie," he murmured, springing forward, grasping Butterfly in his hold, and kissing her with a fire.
He roughly pressed her against a set of bunks, as one of his wandering hands found its way down her leg.
His hands had already begun to unbutton her shirt as he pushed her down on his bunk. He was down to the last button, when it got stuck.
"Goddamnit!" he hissed.
Butterfly grinned and arose from the bunk, her hair wild and her eyes glittering at Race who lay sprawled on the bunk, hungry with anticipation.
"Silly, Col. Can't even unbutton a silly button," she softly said as she undid the final button.
Racetrack blinded by a high of ecstasy as she began to slide out of her shirt.
A hard shake woke Racetrack Higgins.
"Wake up, wake up, Higgins! Carry the banner! Sell the papes!"
It couldn't be true and if it was he didn't want to believe it.
"Wake up, Higgins!"
Another shake caused Race to open one eye. The bespectacled face of Kloppman stared back at him. His other eye reluctantly opened.
Then it hadn't been true.
"Goddamn ya, Kloppman. I'se was jist havin' da best dream of me whole damn life!" Racetrack hissed, the unwelcome morning light finding his eyes.
Kloppman only stepped back and chuckled. "Ya welcome, Higgins." He then moved on to rouse the next newsie in line.
As Race sat hastily sat up, the regular morning sounds of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House invaded his ears. Yawns and grumbles. Snores about to be cut short by the coming of Kloppman and bargains for just five more minutes of sleep.
Racetrack rubbed his eyes. He felt as though his whole body was drained from lack of sleep. What the hell had he done last night? He had been at Tibby's, then.then.on the roof with Butterfly.
Awareness immediately found him as his head snapped to Butterfly James's direction. Kloppman had just woken her, and her eyes fluttered open to meet the fledgling sun's first rays. Propped up on her elbow, she ran a hand through her tangles of yellow hair. She seemed to still be in a state of sleep until her gaze locked with Racetrack's.
Racetrack felt as through the utter air he breathed was stuck somewhere in his throat. He didn't know how to react to her.
Her eyes grew wide. Looking into that burning gaze, Race remembered it all. His listing off of his conquests, the tellings of the pasts, and.the kiss.
It brought chills to him that very moment.
Butterfly swung her legs over the side of the bunk and wearily rubbed her eyes. A tired smile crossed her face. "Good mornin' Colin Higgins. Have a good sleep?"
Racetrack could only stare into her eyes. What the HELL was wrong with him? He had know Butterfly James less than three days, knew almost nothing at all about her, except that he was head over heels.
"So, whattah ya plans tahday?"
He snapped back to reality. "Huh?"
Butterfly giggled. "Silly, Col! I axed what are ya plans tahday? I mean, ya probably bored wit me already."
A grin crossed Race's face as he slowly stood up, stretching his arms over his head. "Coise I'se bored wit ya, little goil. But I need ta teach ya how ta sell papes if ya gonna stay here."
A look of absolute bewilderment crossed her face. "Be.be a newsie again?"
Racetrack lifted an eyebrow. "Again?"
Butterfly winced at her stupidity. "No.I mean, ya want me ta be a newsie?"
"No, Canada, I'se want ya ta be da Queen of England. Coise ya have ta be a newsie, what da hell else?" he asked, spinning on his heels and heading towards the washroom.
Butterfly sprang off her bunk and scrambled after him. "But do I have ta be a newsie?"
"No, Canada," Race replied, disappearing into the washroom. "Unless ya can find anuddah job."
Butterfly let out a long groan as she prepared to go into the washroom, but quickly flattened herself against the wall near the door when Race called out, "I wouldn't come in here, Canada! Dere are some newsies who ain't decent."
Not willing to risk seeing any newsboys au naturel, Butterfly emitted a sigh and flopped back on her bunk. Seeing a comb laying on of the dressers, she picked it up and started to absent-mindedly untangle her hair.
Be a newsie again. She had renounced the profession of a newsboy-girl- unofficially that moment her body hit the water of the East River in the staggering hot summer of 1897 with Rylie Lyner's words ringing in her ears.
Butterfly set the comb back in its rightful place on the dresser. That brought her from her past to her current situation. The past few days had been such a whirlwind that she had almost completely forgot that she had a bounty on her head by the most feared band of newsies on New York. At least no one had found out who she was.
"Are ya gonna keep starin' inta outahspace or ya gonna come sell papes wit me, Canada?"
"Huh?" Butterfly cried, blinking.
Racetrack stood in front of her, lighting yet another cigar and placing his derby cap on his brow.
"But I don't wanna be a newsie!" she whined with sincerity.
Race only chuckled as her surprised her by grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet. "Den whaddah ya wanna be, Buttahfly James?"
"Rich!" she said truthfully.
Racetrack only snorted as he presented another derby cap to Butterfly by grabbing her tangles of hair and stuffing them inside the hat.
Butterfly jumped back, causing the cap to fall to the ground. "What's dat foah?"
Smoke escaped from his nostrils. "I'se sahrry ta 'ffend ya, Canada, but dere jist are no goil newsies."
Butterfly's eyes glinted and her face exclaimed stubbornness as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'se not wearin' it!"
"Den ya can find annudah profession!" he retaliated.
Butterfly let out a sigh and rolled her eyes as she picked the fallen up with one quick sweeping motion. With one snap of the wrist, her hair was twisted into a bun and she fitted the cap onto her head. "How do I look?"
Racetrack looked her over from head to toe, his index finger and thumb on his chin.
"Well?" she exclaimed.
"Like Blink's bruddah if ya had da eye patch!" he laughed.
"Oh, you!" she cried, yanking the cap off her head and springing forward.
Racetrack only let out a cry as he turned and, winding his way past the newsies, darted out of the bunkroom, Butterfly on his tail.
******
"Dis, Weas, is me friend James. 'e's a new newsie. Give 'em fifty papes."
Weasel's unbelieving eyes wound their way down Butterfly's body and back up again until their gazes locked. "Looks too scrawny to be a boy."
Fury coursed through Butterfly. She leapt forward, reaching her arms in between the bars in an attempt to grab the grubby man and break his face.
Racetrack jumped from astonishment at Butterfly's reaction and wrapped his arms around her waist, stepping back and pulling her away from the bars.
Weasel exchanged glances with Morris. "Feisty little newsie."
"Say dat again, ya smelly son of a bitch!" Butterfly yelled.
Weasel only let out a chuckle and looked at Butterfly with smug eyes. "Fifty papes to the wise ass."
Racetrack gave Butterfly a sharp shove to collect her papes from Morris. As the tall, gangly man handed them to her, he let out a deep, idiotic laugh.
But Butterfly's mood at this particular moment was not one to be toyed with.
"Go suck an egg, ya asshole!" she called over her shoulder.
Racetrack didn't even wait for Morris's reaction as he grabbed Butterfly tightly by the collar and pulled her out of the distribution center.
She fidgeted out of his grasp and stood facing him, her eyes narrowed and burning.
Racetrack was speechless for words. "What da HELL was dat back dere?"
"Whaddya mean?" she snapped.
"I mean," he spat, lightly smacking the back of her head, "Ya told off Weasel! Ya nevah evah tell off Weasel no mattah how big an asshole he may be!"
Butterfly James, usually being a very level headed person being able to take a ruse, let the temper that had been struck get the best of her. "I'se can do whatevah da fuck I want, Racetrack Higgins. I don't need ya ta show me how ta sell goddamn papes. I mean, a goddamn four year old could sell papes!"
And with that, Butterfly stormed off through the pedestrians, her whole body radiating with fury.
Racetrack watched her and at first decided to let her go, but soon chased after her and finally caught up with her long strides.
He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. Her burning face made a stark contrast with the golden wisps of hair that had fell out of the coverage the cap provided.
"Jesus Christ, little goil, what da hell kinda tempah d'ya have?"
In spite of her wrath, Butterfly let out a snort. She put a hand to her burning cheek. "God, Racetrack, I dunno. It's jist dat I can't stand when people insult me.especially me history wit smartass pape distributahs."
"You'se have a history wit newspapah distributahs?" Racetrack asked incredulously.
Butterfly's eyes opened in shock. "No, I mean me bruddah's history."
"Ya bruddah was a newsie?" Race asked.
Butterfly knew she should just keep her mouth shut. "No!"
"No?"
"I mean, yeah."
"Which is it, Buttahfly?"
"He was a newsie."
"What was his name, Can? I might have known him."
Now Butterfly knew she had really stuck her foot in her mouth. Stupidass, stupidass, stupidass! her mind scolded.
"Ya wouldn't have known him," she stammered.
"Try me. I'se know a lot of newsies," Racetrack said, obviously waiting for an answer.
Butterfly knew she was in a jam. She was stunned that it just didn't occur to him that she was Sarah Sprites at that very moment. But it didn't, and she did not know how to respond to the question.
Butterfly's gaze quickly flickered down both ways of the street, Racetrack's eyes boring into her.
"His name, Canada?" he asked.
"Uh, uh." Butterfly stammered. Then she did the only thing that occurred to her. "Look, Race, look! It's Teddy Roosevelt!"
That almost caused Race to drop his papes. "Where, where, Canada!" he cried, searching amongst the pedestrians for any sign of him. There was none whatsoever.
"Hey, what's da big idea.Canada," he asked, as he turned back to face Butterfly only to find that she wasn't there.
***** "Hey, Col?"
"Hey, Can."
"Why didn't da skel'tin cross da road?"
"I'se give up, Can, why didn't 'e?"
"Cause 'e didn't have no guts! Git it?"
Racetrack only shook his head. "Clevah little goil. Where didya hear dat stinkah?"
Butterfly giggled and playfully pushed him. "Col! An old friend told me dat."
Race couldn't help himself. "And if I'se ax foah his name, ya won't go runnin' off, Can, will ya?"
He saw her face heat up. "I told ya, Col. I'se really did t'ought dat I saw Teddy Roosevelt, and den I jist went off da sell some papes."
He nodded his head. "Right, Can, whatevah ya say."
"No, Col, it's true," Butterfly said, linking arms with him. "I sweah on me faddah's grave! I jist t'ought dat I could sell a pape."
Racetrack broke from her grasp and looked her in the eyes. "Den go sell one right now!"
Butterfly's eyes reflected the challenge. "Alright, Mistah Smartass! I don't need ya help ta sell a pape!" She departed him.
"Like ya said, Canada, a four year old could sell papes!" he hollered to her, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Butterfly didn't even look back as she leapt onto a bench and held up a pape, hollering the headline: "EXTRA, EXTRA, EXTRA! POLITICAL LOVENEST! MAYAH SEEN WIT UNDAHAGED GOIL AFTAH DAHK!"
That little ditty sold three of Butterfly's papes. Smugness radiating off her face, she strutted back to Racetrack with a smile.
He was astonished. "Where da hell is dat headline?" he asked, flipping through one of the papes.
Butterfly touched her index finger to a microscopic article that read MAYER'S NIECE COMES TO VISIT.
He lifted his eyes to her sparkling ones and found that he had a newfound respect for Butterfly James. "Where did dat come from?"
"Oh, nowhere," she replied, twisting a stray hair around her finger. Her eyes met his once again. "Livin' on da streets, Racetrack Higgins, ya loin ta improve da truth jist a bit."
Racetrack's feeling were reconfirmed just by looking into her playful eyes. He leaned closer to her. "Improve dis." he said softly, leaning in even closer yet. But he pulled back with a jerk as he felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around his neck and the sultry, throaty voice whisper in his ear. "Hey, Racey."
He knew the voice at once. He lifted his eyes to Butterfly, who was staring at the intruder over his shoulder with an expression of surprise.
"Annie," Race flatly said, slowly turning around.
And Anytime Annie Murphy it was. Standing there like some devil in a red dress, her crimson spirals hanging about and her lips just as dark, she stepped closer to him and whispered in her low voice, "Miss me?"
She then proceeded to throw her arms around him and kiss him passionately. Racetrack struggled out of the kiss and broke away. He spun around to see Butterfly staring at him with confusion in her odd eyes. All the things he wanted to say, but he could say none.
"Oh, Racey dahlin'," Annie cooed, running her hands through his hair in the effect that his derby cap fell to the ground. "I'se so sahrry dat I couldn't make it to Spot's pahty. I bet it wasn't da same witout me."
"No, it wasn't," he murmured with out emotion, his gaze still locked on Butterfly, Butterfly with her hair tucked up in that silly derby cap and the papes resting on her shoulder.
"Well, if ya want, Racey, ya can fahget 'bout sellin' ya little papes and we can have our own pahty," she whispered into his ear.
When he didn't respond, her gaze fell over her shoulder and onto Racetrack. "Oh, Racey, who's ya little friend?"
Speaking more to Butterfly than Annie, Racetrack said apologetically, "Annie, dis is Buttahfly James. Canada, dis is me goil---Annie Moiphy."
He felt Annie's arm reach over his shoulder as she held it out to Butterfly. "Why hello, little goil."
Racetrack knew Butterfly's temper had been struck again, by the way her cheeks turned scarlet and the way her eyes started to harden. She purposely spit in her hand and held it out to Annie's.
"Ugh." Annie said in disgust. "What da hell are ya doin'?"
"Dat's da way newsies shake hands, Annie," Racetrack informed.
"Oh, well, dat's okay. I'se shoah dat we'se properly 'quainted anyhow." She then turned her attention back to Race by whispering low in his ear. "C'mon, Racey. Let's go have our own pahty."
Race was quick to object. "But what about Buttahfly?"
Before either party could respond, Butterfly had her own say. "Dat's alright, Race. You jist go and have a fun pahty. I'se gotta sell me papes anyway."
And with that she spun on her heel, Racetrack's watching her until she disappeared, leaving he and Annie all alone.
******** A light, feathery zephyr slithered through the open window of the bunkroom, its cold weightlessness dancing on Butterfly James's face for a few moments, blowing the free strands of her half platted hair about her face. And as quickly as it had come, it disappeared, back out the window to join the North wind that was circulating throughout and about New York City.
Butterfly sighed; completing the plat and throwing the long, golden flaxen braid over her shoulder, the ends falling to the lumpy mattress of the moth eaten bunk. She emitted a longer, more sorrowful sigh, curling her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. She tried to fill her brain with blank mental pictures, trying to push away the two words with four- syllables that kept haunting her mind like a shadow that wouldn't fade into light. It was frustrating, for her psyche would not cooperate.
Racetrack Higgins.
She groaned, falling back against the rough mattress, the springs squealing under her weight.
Racetrack Higgins.
She let out a soft moan of unhappiness, placing her left index and middle finger to her lips, still remembering the lingering sensation of the smooth and salty taste of his lips pressed against hers. Remembering the haunting pulse of the fever brought on yes perhaps by the muggy summer twilight, but by the passion in the touch. Remembering the way her stomach so impossibly churned with a vengeance at the way their sticky sides touched and they way his raspy voice and hot breath skittered across her cheek under the velvety sky and cold stars.
Butterfly's eyes closed and she imagined him there, beside her, on her, kissing her, inhaling in his breath that smelled strangely sweet of nicotine and dated alcohol. A smile lit up her lips as she murmured his name.
Then reason quickly invaded her mind and her smile faded and eyes opened. What in the hell was she thinking? Here the most malicious newsie she had ever known about wanted her crucified. She should be hiding in the center of the earth, quaking and shaking in fear that Rylie Lyner might find her. But here she was, in the goddamn Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House practically having the woman's equivalent of a wet dream about a chain- smoking, horse race loving Italian that she had only known for a few days.
She quickly sat up, banging her head off the upper bunk and uttered a curse.
What had happened in the past week? Just a few days ago she had been in the House of Refuge, after waiting patiently for what seemed like ages for some idiot who was stupid enough with dreams to escape to bring a screwdriver, then be set free. It was only a matter of time before she got it, waiting for the perfect time. Then he had to come along, that damn Italian, and make her rescue him. And then it was his turn to rescue her. And then he just had to call her "Can" and make her knees buckle with euphoria and carry her home from Brooklyn and then play footsie with her in the river and then kiss her! Why did he have to kiss her?
She had always been your average flirt and heartbreaker in Queens, but then it had all been a game. See how many guys you can make get hard-ons! Beat your quota from yesterday and win! But now, with Racetrack Higgins, things were different. The pangs in her heart and stomach and head were all very new to her. Breaking down and absolutely sobbing her heart out to a fellow human being was also a first. Why did he have to make her feel so damn emotional?
Absentmindedly, her hands went to the now very loose braid as she began to pull it out. Yet, what did all this mean? He had Annie. That little bitch. If it walks like a slut and talks like a slut and dresses like a slut then chances are it is a slut. All the other newsies were eating supper and discussing the humid day at Tibby's. Was Race with them? But what did he see in her? Was he going with her just to get laid? From the rumors that Butterfly had heard, Anytime was fucking everyone except Race.
So, why was he with her?
As many times as she racked her brain in pure frustration for an answer, all efforts came up futile. Pulling out the last twist, she shook her head, allowing her sun-kissed hair to stream down her back. She sighed, Skiddy Sniper's face and sharp blue eyes suddenly entering her mind. A sad smile crossed Butterfly's lips as she felt the sharp, bitter tears start to form. In all honest-to-God truth, she missed Queens with a passion. With a vengeance. She missed acting like a fool with Skiddy, playing cute with the other newsies, and most of all she missed Jimmy.
Her eyes closed, and she felt the first painfully hot tear start to trail her cheek when she heard the slamming of the door. She felt her heart leap into her mouth as she uttered a gasp; her eyes flying open. There in the doorway stood none other than Racetrack Higgins, face pale, cheeks scarlet, mouth open, breathing heavy, cap askew.
It was a truly odd blend of emotions, for Butterfly felt the pangs start in her stomach as she felt the iciness in her heart over her missing Queens stark with the hotness of the tears which slide down her cheeks.
"Wh-why aren't y-you whi---with the ah-odduah boys at-at Ti-bby's?" she sobbed, desperately trying to control her tears.
Racetrack's burnt umber eyes widened in disbelief and concern as he strode over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her to her feet. "Ah, Can, why ya cryin'?"
She bowed her head, not wanting him to see her face, her weeping coming out in chokes. "I miss Jimmy!"
"Ah, Can," Race cooed empathetically, pulling her close, dropping his hands to her waist.
She collapsed into him, the pangs overtaking her entire body as a sudden thought erupted in her head: Last night it was dark and I was crying hysterically and he kissed me. This night its dark and I'm crying hysterically and Race, do you think we could have an encore?
As if deliciously on cue, Butterfly felt Racetrack slip his fingers under her chin and raise it. He then pressed his lips to hers, surprising her so that she fell gloriously into him. After the initial shock wore off, she returned the favor, tasting the salty tears and the fresh nicotine that was being exchanged. She parted her lips, savoring the taste of his, throwing her arms around him and dashing his cap to the splintered floor. Sparks and colors erupted into her head and she let out a soft sigh as his hands either raked through her hair or down her back.
It was Racetrack that pulled away, leaving Butterfly still yearning, eyes closed, for that wonderful, feverish temptation once more.
"I'se hung'ry. Gonna jist wash me face den we can meet up wit da odduh guys at Tibby's."
Butterfly's eyes opened, one jade and one sapphire unblinking, to take in Race and his devilish saintly smile before he bowed his head and turned, striding into the washroom.
She was paralyzed in pure shock for a moment, until the numbness wore off and she collapsed on his bunk. She had just experienced something that she never had before. She had returned a kiss for the first time.
Eliciting a pleasure-stricken sigh, she fell back on his bunk, her arms outstretched on either side of her on the sheets. But her thoughts were soon disbanded when the hand that found its way under his pillow that felt something like a newspaper.
Curiosity overtaking her, she sat up and unsheathed the newspaper from the pillow. Lazily unrolling it, her mind still erupting and Cheshire-cat smile on her lips, her eyes immediately fell to the blaring headline: BRUTAL HOMICIDE OF WEALTHY NEW YORK SOCILITE"S DAUGHTER.
It was she had read the last word that she felt an overwhelming mix of fear, sickness, and dread sweep over her.
"Oh my God!" she whispered, staring at the picture of the girl with the flowing blonde hair. "Dey're aftah me. Dey know I'se in Manhattan. Dey already killed dis goil. Dat could have been me."
She couldn't comprehend it, and panic overtook her as she sprang off the bunk. "Jesus Christ, dey know I'se here! I have ta git out of here!"
With that, Butterfly threw the newspaper on the bunk and prepared to dash out the door and leave New York forever when she heard the voice say, "Who knows ya here, Canada?"
She quickly whirled around to see Racetrack's beaming face, his hair newly damp.
She pointed to the paper. "When is dat papah from?" she stammered.
Race, worry crossing his face, walked over to his bunk and looked down at the paper and then to Butterfly. "It's from yestahday, why Canada?"
"Goddamnit!" she said, her voice cracking and tears finding the corners of her eyes.
Racetrack, noticing her upset state, strode over to her and placed his hands on his shoulder. "What's goin' on, Can?"
She shook her head. "I gotta git outtah here. I gottah git out of here."
He wore an expression of astonishment. "Leave? Buttahfly, what da hell are ya talkin' about?"
"Dey aftah me, Race, dey aftah me, Race. I was such a moron ta stay in New Yawk! I shoahd have left when I had da chance. I have ta go!" she sobbed, breaking from his grasp and stepping backwards.
But Racetrack grabbed her wrist. "Buttahfly, ya ain't goin' nowhere but ta Tibby's wit me. Now what d hell is ya problem?"
Butterfly shook her head and tried to yank out of his grasp, but he wasn't budging. "Lemme go, Racetrack! Lemme go!"
"No!" he replied heatedly. "I can't jist let ya go like dat, James!"
"Yes ya can!" she cried, continuing her attempts to break free. "LET ME GO!"
Racetrack literally had to pull backwards to stop Butterfly from getting loose. "Buttahfly, what is ya problem? I'se can't let ya jist go like dat, I'se involved!"
"Ya ain't involved, Higgins!" she struggled. "Let me go, now!"
"No!" Race said with equal strength. " I won't let ya go out of me life."
Butterfly stopped her struggles long enough to look into Racetrack's deep eyes, his eyes that were filled with worry and confusion.
Tears running down her cheeks, she whispered, "I'se so sharry, Race."
Race didn't have time to respond before her free hand, in the form of a fist, rocketed across his chin, causing him to fly backwards. This let her free, and with out looking back, Butterfly James ran out of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House, leaving racetrack Higgins sprawled on the ground with a very sore chin and a very confused mind.
Horance Lyner let out a deep sigh-a sigh that seemed more like a growl coming from him.
He continued pushing his way through the hurried pedestrians. He was becoming frustrated. The high August sun was starting to take its toll on him.
Horance had begun his journey from Queens to Manhattan early that morning, and even then, the early sun was blazing. He had set out before Rylie had woken for he had no desire whatsoever to hear his brother's rants on his hatred of Sarah Sprites. He had already heard them plenty for the past two years, no scratch that, even longer than that. Since Jimmy Sprites had been alive and his sister at his side. But then Sprites had been killed and his sister run out. Rylie would occasionally gripe about her, but no more than that.
His rants had taken a head when a group of newsies still loyal to Jimmy Sprites revolted against Horance and his brother. They actually took out some of his brother and his newsies. Rylie had warned them to stop, but they hadn't. So, he stopped them by putting a bounty on their beloved Sarah Sprites's head.
Horance took his derby cap off his head and wiped the perspiration off his brow with his forearm. It sure was hot out. And it sure wasn't fair that HE had to go to Manhattan to track down Sprites and kill her. In fact, it wasn't fair at all, and all for the fact that he didn't want to murder Sarah Sprites by his own hands.
If Jasper Johnson and Ulf Uberstein, who had been two of Horance's closest friends, had done the job right, then he wouldn't have to do it. And Rylie wouldn't be as furious. He was furious over the fact not that his newsies had killed an innocent girl, but that they had brought suspicion to Queens with their clumsiness.
The heat was unbearable on Horance. He unbuttoned his plaid shirt as quickly as he could, revealing an overheated yet built chest. He quickly stuffed it in his back pocket, a back pocket which also contained Rylie's cherished knife-the knife Horance was to use to slay Sarah Sprites and she same blade that caused the fall of her brother.
He let his hand linger on the hilt as he aimlessly wandered to Manhattan. All he could imagine at this moment was if he would really drive that blade into Sarah Sprites. He shook that thought out of his mind as he quickly let go of the knife.
Rylie had told him not to fail. And there was a great possibility that that would occur. Rylie speculated that Sarah Sprites was in Manhattan just because of some thin story he had heard through the grapevine. Although he was noted for having a brain on his head, Horance had one too. Underneath all the force, he had a brain. What made Rylie so sure that she was in Manhattan? It was one chance in a million.
Horance wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his arm once again. Even if Sarah Sprites was in Manhattan, he didn't look forward to murdering her in his own hands, anyhow. She had saved his life once.
A few years back, Rylie had gotten into trouble with Midtown in a poker game. He had bet big and lost big. And he had't paid the debt. Horance had been walking about in the dark one night when he was struck over the head. It turned out that Midtown had sent their two most thuggish newsies to collect their money--and it really didn't matter which Lyner they snared.
They had demanded their money, but Horance hadn't had any. He knew he probably would have been dead, if it hadn't been for Sarah Sprites showing up out of the blue. She surprised the two Midtown newsies by striking them in the back of the heads with a plank of wood and had actually drug Horance's 220 lbs. somehow back to Lyner headquarters. Although he had been drifting in and out of consciousness, Horance remembered that she had knocked quickly on the door and ran like hell out of there.
Horance sighed and picked up his pace. His goal was to reach Manhattan by nightfall. And even if he did, he knew Sarah Sprites probably wouldn't be there. If he was her, he would be as far away as Queens as he could.
The truth was that Sarah Sprites was indeed in Manhattan, although she wouldn't be there much longer.
******
Butterfly pulled away from the kiss.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered heavily into Racetrack's ear, "Col, I wanna go somewhere where I'se can see ya."
Race was taken aback. He was thankful for the blanket of darkness for her didn't want her to see the shade of scarlet his body had turned.
In the darkness, his clammy hand found hers and he once again pulled her down the fire escape and through the window to the bunkroom. But there was something odd.
"Where are all da guys?" Racetrack exclaimed.
"Who cares about dem?" Butterfly replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and moving her mouth down to his throat.
"BUTTAHFLY!" he exclaimed at he audacity.
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Ya don't like it?"
"Oh, God no! I like it, it's just." he blurted, then caught himself. "It's jist."
"Just what, Col?" Butterfly asked, running her finger down his chest.
Racetrack stepped back. "It's jist dat I'se wit Annie."
That didn't defer Butterfly. A gleam in her eye, she leaned forward and passionately kissed him. "Are ya shoah?" She stepped back.
Racetrack groaned due to spite of his conscious. To give in or not to give in?
Starting from her toes, Racetrack's eyes wandered up her whole body, his desire growing stronger every growing moment. He just couldn't resist temptation any longer when he saw the wicked gleam in her eye.
"Screw Annie," he murmured, springing forward, grasping Butterfly in his hold, and kissing her with a fire.
He roughly pressed her against a set of bunks, as one of his wandering hands found its way down her leg.
His hands had already begun to unbutton her shirt as he pushed her down on his bunk. He was down to the last button, when it got stuck.
"Goddamnit!" he hissed.
Butterfly grinned and arose from the bunk, her hair wild and her eyes glittering at Race who lay sprawled on the bunk, hungry with anticipation.
"Silly, Col. Can't even unbutton a silly button," she softly said as she undid the final button.
Racetrack blinded by a high of ecstasy as she began to slide out of her shirt.
A hard shake woke Racetrack Higgins.
"Wake up, wake up, Higgins! Carry the banner! Sell the papes!"
It couldn't be true and if it was he didn't want to believe it.
"Wake up, Higgins!"
Another shake caused Race to open one eye. The bespectacled face of Kloppman stared back at him. His other eye reluctantly opened.
Then it hadn't been true.
"Goddamn ya, Kloppman. I'se was jist havin' da best dream of me whole damn life!" Racetrack hissed, the unwelcome morning light finding his eyes.
Kloppman only stepped back and chuckled. "Ya welcome, Higgins." He then moved on to rouse the next newsie in line.
As Race sat hastily sat up, the regular morning sounds of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House invaded his ears. Yawns and grumbles. Snores about to be cut short by the coming of Kloppman and bargains for just five more minutes of sleep.
Racetrack rubbed his eyes. He felt as though his whole body was drained from lack of sleep. What the hell had he done last night? He had been at Tibby's, then.then.on the roof with Butterfly.
Awareness immediately found him as his head snapped to Butterfly James's direction. Kloppman had just woken her, and her eyes fluttered open to meet the fledgling sun's first rays. Propped up on her elbow, she ran a hand through her tangles of yellow hair. She seemed to still be in a state of sleep until her gaze locked with Racetrack's.
Racetrack felt as through the utter air he breathed was stuck somewhere in his throat. He didn't know how to react to her.
Her eyes grew wide. Looking into that burning gaze, Race remembered it all. His listing off of his conquests, the tellings of the pasts, and.the kiss.
It brought chills to him that very moment.
Butterfly swung her legs over the side of the bunk and wearily rubbed her eyes. A tired smile crossed her face. "Good mornin' Colin Higgins. Have a good sleep?"
Racetrack could only stare into her eyes. What the HELL was wrong with him? He had know Butterfly James less than three days, knew almost nothing at all about her, except that he was head over heels.
"So, whattah ya plans tahday?"
He snapped back to reality. "Huh?"
Butterfly giggled. "Silly, Col! I axed what are ya plans tahday? I mean, ya probably bored wit me already."
A grin crossed Race's face as he slowly stood up, stretching his arms over his head. "Coise I'se bored wit ya, little goil. But I need ta teach ya how ta sell papes if ya gonna stay here."
A look of absolute bewilderment crossed her face. "Be.be a newsie again?"
Racetrack lifted an eyebrow. "Again?"
Butterfly winced at her stupidity. "No.I mean, ya want me ta be a newsie?"
"No, Canada, I'se want ya ta be da Queen of England. Coise ya have ta be a newsie, what da hell else?" he asked, spinning on his heels and heading towards the washroom.
Butterfly sprang off her bunk and scrambled after him. "But do I have ta be a newsie?"
"No, Canada," Race replied, disappearing into the washroom. "Unless ya can find anuddah job."
Butterfly let out a long groan as she prepared to go into the washroom, but quickly flattened herself against the wall near the door when Race called out, "I wouldn't come in here, Canada! Dere are some newsies who ain't decent."
Not willing to risk seeing any newsboys au naturel, Butterfly emitted a sigh and flopped back on her bunk. Seeing a comb laying on of the dressers, she picked it up and started to absent-mindedly untangle her hair.
Be a newsie again. She had renounced the profession of a newsboy-girl- unofficially that moment her body hit the water of the East River in the staggering hot summer of 1897 with Rylie Lyner's words ringing in her ears.
Butterfly set the comb back in its rightful place on the dresser. That brought her from her past to her current situation. The past few days had been such a whirlwind that she had almost completely forgot that she had a bounty on her head by the most feared band of newsies on New York. At least no one had found out who she was.
"Are ya gonna keep starin' inta outahspace or ya gonna come sell papes wit me, Canada?"
"Huh?" Butterfly cried, blinking.
Racetrack stood in front of her, lighting yet another cigar and placing his derby cap on his brow.
"But I don't wanna be a newsie!" she whined with sincerity.
Race only chuckled as her surprised her by grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet. "Den whaddah ya wanna be, Buttahfly James?"
"Rich!" she said truthfully.
Racetrack only snorted as he presented another derby cap to Butterfly by grabbing her tangles of hair and stuffing them inside the hat.
Butterfly jumped back, causing the cap to fall to the ground. "What's dat foah?"
Smoke escaped from his nostrils. "I'se sahrry ta 'ffend ya, Canada, but dere jist are no goil newsies."
Butterfly's eyes glinted and her face exclaimed stubbornness as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'se not wearin' it!"
"Den ya can find annudah profession!" he retaliated.
Butterfly let out a sigh and rolled her eyes as she picked the fallen up with one quick sweeping motion. With one snap of the wrist, her hair was twisted into a bun and she fitted the cap onto her head. "How do I look?"
Racetrack looked her over from head to toe, his index finger and thumb on his chin.
"Well?" she exclaimed.
"Like Blink's bruddah if ya had da eye patch!" he laughed.
"Oh, you!" she cried, yanking the cap off her head and springing forward.
Racetrack only let out a cry as he turned and, winding his way past the newsies, darted out of the bunkroom, Butterfly on his tail.
******
"Dis, Weas, is me friend James. 'e's a new newsie. Give 'em fifty papes."
Weasel's unbelieving eyes wound their way down Butterfly's body and back up again until their gazes locked. "Looks too scrawny to be a boy."
Fury coursed through Butterfly. She leapt forward, reaching her arms in between the bars in an attempt to grab the grubby man and break his face.
Racetrack jumped from astonishment at Butterfly's reaction and wrapped his arms around her waist, stepping back and pulling her away from the bars.
Weasel exchanged glances with Morris. "Feisty little newsie."
"Say dat again, ya smelly son of a bitch!" Butterfly yelled.
Weasel only let out a chuckle and looked at Butterfly with smug eyes. "Fifty papes to the wise ass."
Racetrack gave Butterfly a sharp shove to collect her papes from Morris. As the tall, gangly man handed them to her, he let out a deep, idiotic laugh.
But Butterfly's mood at this particular moment was not one to be toyed with.
"Go suck an egg, ya asshole!" she called over her shoulder.
Racetrack didn't even wait for Morris's reaction as he grabbed Butterfly tightly by the collar and pulled her out of the distribution center.
She fidgeted out of his grasp and stood facing him, her eyes narrowed and burning.
Racetrack was speechless for words. "What da HELL was dat back dere?"
"Whaddya mean?" she snapped.
"I mean," he spat, lightly smacking the back of her head, "Ya told off Weasel! Ya nevah evah tell off Weasel no mattah how big an asshole he may be!"
Butterfly James, usually being a very level headed person being able to take a ruse, let the temper that had been struck get the best of her. "I'se can do whatevah da fuck I want, Racetrack Higgins. I don't need ya ta show me how ta sell goddamn papes. I mean, a goddamn four year old could sell papes!"
And with that, Butterfly stormed off through the pedestrians, her whole body radiating with fury.
Racetrack watched her and at first decided to let her go, but soon chased after her and finally caught up with her long strides.
He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. Her burning face made a stark contrast with the golden wisps of hair that had fell out of the coverage the cap provided.
"Jesus Christ, little goil, what da hell kinda tempah d'ya have?"
In spite of her wrath, Butterfly let out a snort. She put a hand to her burning cheek. "God, Racetrack, I dunno. It's jist dat I can't stand when people insult me.especially me history wit smartass pape distributahs."
"You'se have a history wit newspapah distributahs?" Racetrack asked incredulously.
Butterfly's eyes opened in shock. "No, I mean me bruddah's history."
"Ya bruddah was a newsie?" Race asked.
Butterfly knew she should just keep her mouth shut. "No!"
"No?"
"I mean, yeah."
"Which is it, Buttahfly?"
"He was a newsie."
"What was his name, Can? I might have known him."
Now Butterfly knew she had really stuck her foot in her mouth. Stupidass, stupidass, stupidass! her mind scolded.
"Ya wouldn't have known him," she stammered.
"Try me. I'se know a lot of newsies," Racetrack said, obviously waiting for an answer.
Butterfly knew she was in a jam. She was stunned that it just didn't occur to him that she was Sarah Sprites at that very moment. But it didn't, and she did not know how to respond to the question.
Butterfly's gaze quickly flickered down both ways of the street, Racetrack's eyes boring into her.
"His name, Canada?" he asked.
"Uh, uh." Butterfly stammered. Then she did the only thing that occurred to her. "Look, Race, look! It's Teddy Roosevelt!"
That almost caused Race to drop his papes. "Where, where, Canada!" he cried, searching amongst the pedestrians for any sign of him. There was none whatsoever.
"Hey, what's da big idea.Canada," he asked, as he turned back to face Butterfly only to find that she wasn't there.
***** "Hey, Col?"
"Hey, Can."
"Why didn't da skel'tin cross da road?"
"I'se give up, Can, why didn't 'e?"
"Cause 'e didn't have no guts! Git it?"
Racetrack only shook his head. "Clevah little goil. Where didya hear dat stinkah?"
Butterfly giggled and playfully pushed him. "Col! An old friend told me dat."
Race couldn't help himself. "And if I'se ax foah his name, ya won't go runnin' off, Can, will ya?"
He saw her face heat up. "I told ya, Col. I'se really did t'ought dat I saw Teddy Roosevelt, and den I jist went off da sell some papes."
He nodded his head. "Right, Can, whatevah ya say."
"No, Col, it's true," Butterfly said, linking arms with him. "I sweah on me faddah's grave! I jist t'ought dat I could sell a pape."
Racetrack broke from her grasp and looked her in the eyes. "Den go sell one right now!"
Butterfly's eyes reflected the challenge. "Alright, Mistah Smartass! I don't need ya help ta sell a pape!" She departed him.
"Like ya said, Canada, a four year old could sell papes!" he hollered to her, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Butterfly didn't even look back as she leapt onto a bench and held up a pape, hollering the headline: "EXTRA, EXTRA, EXTRA! POLITICAL LOVENEST! MAYAH SEEN WIT UNDAHAGED GOIL AFTAH DAHK!"
That little ditty sold three of Butterfly's papes. Smugness radiating off her face, she strutted back to Racetrack with a smile.
He was astonished. "Where da hell is dat headline?" he asked, flipping through one of the papes.
Butterfly touched her index finger to a microscopic article that read MAYER'S NIECE COMES TO VISIT.
He lifted his eyes to her sparkling ones and found that he had a newfound respect for Butterfly James. "Where did dat come from?"
"Oh, nowhere," she replied, twisting a stray hair around her finger. Her eyes met his once again. "Livin' on da streets, Racetrack Higgins, ya loin ta improve da truth jist a bit."
Racetrack's feeling were reconfirmed just by looking into her playful eyes. He leaned closer to her. "Improve dis." he said softly, leaning in even closer yet. But he pulled back with a jerk as he felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around his neck and the sultry, throaty voice whisper in his ear. "Hey, Racey."
He knew the voice at once. He lifted his eyes to Butterfly, who was staring at the intruder over his shoulder with an expression of surprise.
"Annie," Race flatly said, slowly turning around.
And Anytime Annie Murphy it was. Standing there like some devil in a red dress, her crimson spirals hanging about and her lips just as dark, she stepped closer to him and whispered in her low voice, "Miss me?"
She then proceeded to throw her arms around him and kiss him passionately. Racetrack struggled out of the kiss and broke away. He spun around to see Butterfly staring at him with confusion in her odd eyes. All the things he wanted to say, but he could say none.
"Oh, Racey dahlin'," Annie cooed, running her hands through his hair in the effect that his derby cap fell to the ground. "I'se so sahrry dat I couldn't make it to Spot's pahty. I bet it wasn't da same witout me."
"No, it wasn't," he murmured with out emotion, his gaze still locked on Butterfly, Butterfly with her hair tucked up in that silly derby cap and the papes resting on her shoulder.
"Well, if ya want, Racey, ya can fahget 'bout sellin' ya little papes and we can have our own pahty," she whispered into his ear.
When he didn't respond, her gaze fell over her shoulder and onto Racetrack. "Oh, Racey, who's ya little friend?"
Speaking more to Butterfly than Annie, Racetrack said apologetically, "Annie, dis is Buttahfly James. Canada, dis is me goil---Annie Moiphy."
He felt Annie's arm reach over his shoulder as she held it out to Butterfly. "Why hello, little goil."
Racetrack knew Butterfly's temper had been struck again, by the way her cheeks turned scarlet and the way her eyes started to harden. She purposely spit in her hand and held it out to Annie's.
"Ugh." Annie said in disgust. "What da hell are ya doin'?"
"Dat's da way newsies shake hands, Annie," Racetrack informed.
"Oh, well, dat's okay. I'se shoah dat we'se properly 'quainted anyhow." She then turned her attention back to Race by whispering low in his ear. "C'mon, Racey. Let's go have our own pahty."
Race was quick to object. "But what about Buttahfly?"
Before either party could respond, Butterfly had her own say. "Dat's alright, Race. You jist go and have a fun pahty. I'se gotta sell me papes anyway."
And with that she spun on her heel, Racetrack's watching her until she disappeared, leaving he and Annie all alone.
******** A light, feathery zephyr slithered through the open window of the bunkroom, its cold weightlessness dancing on Butterfly James's face for a few moments, blowing the free strands of her half platted hair about her face. And as quickly as it had come, it disappeared, back out the window to join the North wind that was circulating throughout and about New York City.
Butterfly sighed; completing the plat and throwing the long, golden flaxen braid over her shoulder, the ends falling to the lumpy mattress of the moth eaten bunk. She emitted a longer, more sorrowful sigh, curling her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. She tried to fill her brain with blank mental pictures, trying to push away the two words with four- syllables that kept haunting her mind like a shadow that wouldn't fade into light. It was frustrating, for her psyche would not cooperate.
Racetrack Higgins.
She groaned, falling back against the rough mattress, the springs squealing under her weight.
Racetrack Higgins.
She let out a soft moan of unhappiness, placing her left index and middle finger to her lips, still remembering the lingering sensation of the smooth and salty taste of his lips pressed against hers. Remembering the haunting pulse of the fever brought on yes perhaps by the muggy summer twilight, but by the passion in the touch. Remembering the way her stomach so impossibly churned with a vengeance at the way their sticky sides touched and they way his raspy voice and hot breath skittered across her cheek under the velvety sky and cold stars.
Butterfly's eyes closed and she imagined him there, beside her, on her, kissing her, inhaling in his breath that smelled strangely sweet of nicotine and dated alcohol. A smile lit up her lips as she murmured his name.
Then reason quickly invaded her mind and her smile faded and eyes opened. What in the hell was she thinking? Here the most malicious newsie she had ever known about wanted her crucified. She should be hiding in the center of the earth, quaking and shaking in fear that Rylie Lyner might find her. But here she was, in the goddamn Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House practically having the woman's equivalent of a wet dream about a chain- smoking, horse race loving Italian that she had only known for a few days.
She quickly sat up, banging her head off the upper bunk and uttered a curse.
What had happened in the past week? Just a few days ago she had been in the House of Refuge, after waiting patiently for what seemed like ages for some idiot who was stupid enough with dreams to escape to bring a screwdriver, then be set free. It was only a matter of time before she got it, waiting for the perfect time. Then he had to come along, that damn Italian, and make her rescue him. And then it was his turn to rescue her. And then he just had to call her "Can" and make her knees buckle with euphoria and carry her home from Brooklyn and then play footsie with her in the river and then kiss her! Why did he have to kiss her?
She had always been your average flirt and heartbreaker in Queens, but then it had all been a game. See how many guys you can make get hard-ons! Beat your quota from yesterday and win! But now, with Racetrack Higgins, things were different. The pangs in her heart and stomach and head were all very new to her. Breaking down and absolutely sobbing her heart out to a fellow human being was also a first. Why did he have to make her feel so damn emotional?
Absentmindedly, her hands went to the now very loose braid as she began to pull it out. Yet, what did all this mean? He had Annie. That little bitch. If it walks like a slut and talks like a slut and dresses like a slut then chances are it is a slut. All the other newsies were eating supper and discussing the humid day at Tibby's. Was Race with them? But what did he see in her? Was he going with her just to get laid? From the rumors that Butterfly had heard, Anytime was fucking everyone except Race.
So, why was he with her?
As many times as she racked her brain in pure frustration for an answer, all efforts came up futile. Pulling out the last twist, she shook her head, allowing her sun-kissed hair to stream down her back. She sighed, Skiddy Sniper's face and sharp blue eyes suddenly entering her mind. A sad smile crossed Butterfly's lips as she felt the sharp, bitter tears start to form. In all honest-to-God truth, she missed Queens with a passion. With a vengeance. She missed acting like a fool with Skiddy, playing cute with the other newsies, and most of all she missed Jimmy.
Her eyes closed, and she felt the first painfully hot tear start to trail her cheek when she heard the slamming of the door. She felt her heart leap into her mouth as she uttered a gasp; her eyes flying open. There in the doorway stood none other than Racetrack Higgins, face pale, cheeks scarlet, mouth open, breathing heavy, cap askew.
It was a truly odd blend of emotions, for Butterfly felt the pangs start in her stomach as she felt the iciness in her heart over her missing Queens stark with the hotness of the tears which slide down her cheeks.
"Wh-why aren't y-you whi---with the ah-odduah boys at-at Ti-bby's?" she sobbed, desperately trying to control her tears.
Racetrack's burnt umber eyes widened in disbelief and concern as he strode over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her to her feet. "Ah, Can, why ya cryin'?"
She bowed her head, not wanting him to see her face, her weeping coming out in chokes. "I miss Jimmy!"
"Ah, Can," Race cooed empathetically, pulling her close, dropping his hands to her waist.
She collapsed into him, the pangs overtaking her entire body as a sudden thought erupted in her head: Last night it was dark and I was crying hysterically and he kissed me. This night its dark and I'm crying hysterically and Race, do you think we could have an encore?
As if deliciously on cue, Butterfly felt Racetrack slip his fingers under her chin and raise it. He then pressed his lips to hers, surprising her so that she fell gloriously into him. After the initial shock wore off, she returned the favor, tasting the salty tears and the fresh nicotine that was being exchanged. She parted her lips, savoring the taste of his, throwing her arms around him and dashing his cap to the splintered floor. Sparks and colors erupted into her head and she let out a soft sigh as his hands either raked through her hair or down her back.
It was Racetrack that pulled away, leaving Butterfly still yearning, eyes closed, for that wonderful, feverish temptation once more.
"I'se hung'ry. Gonna jist wash me face den we can meet up wit da odduh guys at Tibby's."
Butterfly's eyes opened, one jade and one sapphire unblinking, to take in Race and his devilish saintly smile before he bowed his head and turned, striding into the washroom.
She was paralyzed in pure shock for a moment, until the numbness wore off and she collapsed on his bunk. She had just experienced something that she never had before. She had returned a kiss for the first time.
Eliciting a pleasure-stricken sigh, she fell back on his bunk, her arms outstretched on either side of her on the sheets. But her thoughts were soon disbanded when the hand that found its way under his pillow that felt something like a newspaper.
Curiosity overtaking her, she sat up and unsheathed the newspaper from the pillow. Lazily unrolling it, her mind still erupting and Cheshire-cat smile on her lips, her eyes immediately fell to the blaring headline: BRUTAL HOMICIDE OF WEALTHY NEW YORK SOCILITE"S DAUGHTER.
It was she had read the last word that she felt an overwhelming mix of fear, sickness, and dread sweep over her.
"Oh my God!" she whispered, staring at the picture of the girl with the flowing blonde hair. "Dey're aftah me. Dey know I'se in Manhattan. Dey already killed dis goil. Dat could have been me."
She couldn't comprehend it, and panic overtook her as she sprang off the bunk. "Jesus Christ, dey know I'se here! I have ta git out of here!"
With that, Butterfly threw the newspaper on the bunk and prepared to dash out the door and leave New York forever when she heard the voice say, "Who knows ya here, Canada?"
She quickly whirled around to see Racetrack's beaming face, his hair newly damp.
She pointed to the paper. "When is dat papah from?" she stammered.
Race, worry crossing his face, walked over to his bunk and looked down at the paper and then to Butterfly. "It's from yestahday, why Canada?"
"Goddamnit!" she said, her voice cracking and tears finding the corners of her eyes.
Racetrack, noticing her upset state, strode over to her and placed his hands on his shoulder. "What's goin' on, Can?"
She shook her head. "I gotta git outtah here. I gottah git out of here."
He wore an expression of astonishment. "Leave? Buttahfly, what da hell are ya talkin' about?"
"Dey aftah me, Race, dey aftah me, Race. I was such a moron ta stay in New Yawk! I shoahd have left when I had da chance. I have ta go!" she sobbed, breaking from his grasp and stepping backwards.
But Racetrack grabbed her wrist. "Buttahfly, ya ain't goin' nowhere but ta Tibby's wit me. Now what d hell is ya problem?"
Butterfly shook her head and tried to yank out of his grasp, but he wasn't budging. "Lemme go, Racetrack! Lemme go!"
"No!" he replied heatedly. "I can't jist let ya go like dat, James!"
"Yes ya can!" she cried, continuing her attempts to break free. "LET ME GO!"
Racetrack literally had to pull backwards to stop Butterfly from getting loose. "Buttahfly, what is ya problem? I'se can't let ya jist go like dat, I'se involved!"
"Ya ain't involved, Higgins!" she struggled. "Let me go, now!"
"No!" Race said with equal strength. " I won't let ya go out of me life."
Butterfly stopped her struggles long enough to look into Racetrack's deep eyes, his eyes that were filled with worry and confusion.
Tears running down her cheeks, she whispered, "I'se so sharry, Race."
Race didn't have time to respond before her free hand, in the form of a fist, rocketed across his chin, causing him to fly backwards. This let her free, and with out looking back, Butterfly James ran out of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House, leaving racetrack Higgins sprawled on the ground with a very sore chin and a very confused mind.