"Another day has almost come and gone,
Can't imagine what else could go wrong,
Sometimes I'd like to hide away,
Somewhere and lock the door,
A single battle lost,
But not the war"
"'Cause tomorrow's another day,
And I'm thirsty anyway,
So bring on the rain"
"It's almost like hard times circle round,
A couple drops,
And they all start coming down,
Yeah I might feel defeated,
And I might hang my head,
I might be barely breathing
But I'm not dead"
"'Cause tomorrow's another day,
And I'm thirsty anyway,
So bring on the rain"
No I'm not gonna let it get me down,
I'm not gonna cry,
I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight"
"Cause tomorrow's another day,
And I am not afraid,
So bring on the rain
Tomorrow's another day,
And I'm thirsty anyway,
So bring on the rain"
-Jo Dee Messina, "Bring on the Rain"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Spring seemed to go by in a blur, bringing summer along with it, and Mara Charlotte Delancey McKeary, the Mask of Harlem, the Key of Brooklyn, had all but forgotten about a boy she had once known, a boy who went by the alias Gambler, the sometime-leader of Harlem.
But he hadn't forgotten her, or the fact that she posed a threat to his authority.
And nobody ever so much as dreamed of posing a threat to somebody like Gambler, especially in his odd state of mind. Paranoia is a thing easy to slip into, and that went the same for Gambler.
The boy had left Harlem once more and crossed over to Manhattan, and to top that all of had very insolently began hawking the headlines there. Oh, he knew what would happen if Cowboy or any other of the Manhattan newsies caught him, but adrenaline junkie that he was, the thrill gave him pleasure.
Running a hand through his mass of curly dark hair, he gave away the last of his papes, checked his pocketwatch and grinned in satisfaction. Not even close to lunch yet.
Beat dat, Jack Kelly, he thought, sneer pasted onto his handsome features. Now, ta go and grab lunch in da diner dey claimed as part of deir territory. Who knows, I might run inta da whore who has da gal ta call herself a newsie.
His stride, was as always, confident, cocky. His eyes were lively and alert, contrasting very well with his immaculate style of dressing, something maybe even Spot Conlon might have envied.
Gambler spit, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth at the very thought of the Brooklyn leader.
Conlon ain't so much as a glorified puppy dog! It takes a fully grown, able male wolf ta handle a pack, someone capable of dealin' wit does kinda things.
Yes, he was confident that given the chance, he would be able to defeat Spot Conlon in wits, a common fistfight, and even outdo him when it came to leadership. Gambler's vanity pretty much rivalled Mask's.
It was April, and unusually sunny for the month, bringing along a series of ironies. Gambler had left Harlem in order to seek out the threat that challenged his authority, not knowing that while he wa gone, Handle, a newsie of his had basically taken over for him. Mask, in turn, had finally come to peace with herself whilst a turmoil was brewing elsewhere, ready to thrust itself into her face. Snoddy, who had expected his relashionship with Blink to worsen after Mask and he had been declared a couple was surprised to find it only strengthened the bond.
Turning a corner, he found himself confronted with a boy, newsie by the looks of him, arms folded over his chest, glaring. Gambler had expected such a reception. Nonchalantly, he sized the Manhattan newsie up.
He was tall and thin, though not as tall as Gambler, locks of curly black hair poking out from under his cap. His features were rather sharp and angular, te body betraying a wiry strength that most likely lay beneath the friendly exposure.
"You da newsie dat's been sellin' papes around heah?"
"Yeah. What's it ta you?"
"A lot. See, dat's me sellin' spot you were standin' in," the other growled. Gambler shurgged.
"So? Ya nevah claimed it. I didn't see ya standin' dere hawkin' headlines, and ya hadn't made a move ta stop me."
"Dat's me sellin' spot," the boy repeated. "Benn sellin' papes dere for forever. I was down wit a cold for a liddle while," he added, voice cool and controlled, "but I'se back now."
"Oh yeah? Dat so?"
"Yeah."
Gambler laughed. This would be too easy. All he had to do was provoke the newsboy enough, and he'd have the fight and probably bloodshed he'd been wanting and lacking for the past few weeks now.
Drawing himself up, the Harlem leader stared down his nose at the Manhattan newsie. "Make me."
"Huh?"
"Ya wantcha spot back you'se gonna halfta fight me for it. Though I doubt a twig like you could even come close ta doin' so."
That was all it took. The boy flew at Gambler, hitting him with an unexpected strength. Gambler staggered backwards for a second, then, while the other boy was still gathering himself together, threw several lightening quick punches at him.
The Manhattan newsie, caught off guard found himself backed into a narrow alleyway.
Gambler let out a hoarse bray of laughter, spreading his hands wide. This was a hot-blooded one.
"C'mon. Ya t'ink ya can take me?"
The boy said nothing, just flew at him once more and found that he had miscalculated. Gambler sidestepped neatly, then caught the boy before he fell to the gruond, slamming him against the wall at the far end.
"Wrong move," he sneered. This was jsut far too easy. Drawing his fist back, he punched, drawing blood. The boy coughed a bit, and his struggles grew more feeble. Gambler continued the beating until he was sure his victim was near unconcious.
"Gambler! Gambler! Hey!"
The voice that rang out from the end of the alleyway was all too familiar. A malicious grin spread across hi face, and he turned around. The grin subsided, however, when he found Mask, whom he thought had been alone, backed by several other newsboys.
Mask turned towards Bumlets. "Go get Itey. Get him back ta da Lodgin' House, and make shoah ta stay cleah of da Delanceys." She shook her head. "Dat boy's too quick-tempered for his own good. He takes on da Harlem leader aftah a harsh winter like dat?"
Over the course of winter, Itey's cold had developed into a hacking cough, then turned into full-blown pnemonia. A doctor was out of the question, far beyond the grasp of any of the Manhattan newsies, far too expensive. Kloppman and Specs, using the limited knowledge of health that they had had done their best. Itey had somehow pulled through, and by the end of spring, the sickness was almsot completely gone, and he began hawking the headlines again.
Of course, after his ordeal, getting the living daylights beaten out of him by the notorious Harlem leader hadn't been all that good.
Mask turned to Gambler, and he was surprised to find her facial expression had changed some. Normally, she would be tiptoeing around, trying to steer clear of him, ashamed over his victory. Now she stood, arms crossed over her chest, giving him a look that was both meanacing, disdainful and challenging in one. And he couldn't afford getting soaked, he thought, eyes straying to the three boys standing beside her.
The first was a tall blonde, red bandana and hat hanging on his back identifying him as Cowboy, leader of the Manhattan newsies. The second was a boy of average build, sandy blonde hair sligthly tousled by the wind, leather patch adorning his left eye. The third...
The third was a tall brunette, dark eyes glinting in the sunlight, shooting Gambler a look that could only be called pure hatred, though he wasn't sure why. And the protective arm that he had laid around Mask's shoulders...
Gambler sneered. "So you're Snoddy, right?"
Snoddy looked surprised, then sneered right back. "Yeah. What's it ta you?"
"Found yourself a new whore, I see? She givin' ya what ya want?"
Both Blink and Jack looked slightly taken aback by the last few words.
Gambler noted their looks and nodded, chest still heaving from exertion over the beating. "Oh, I see she ain't toldja yet, huh?" he asked. Mask's facial expression turned to one of panic.
"Gambler," she pleaded, "come on. Ya had your fun."
Jack, Blink and Snoddy all glanced at her, surprised at the sheer submission that seeped into her normally haughty tone.
Gambler gazed at her hungrily. "I'll give ya da facts, Mask. You ain't much of a beauty, but God was it satisfying."
Snoddy lunged forwards, and Mask grabbed his arm, then was thrown forwards by the force of his movement. But it was enough to stop him, and Jack moved forwards in case any more restraint was needed.
Gambler looked as though he wanted to say more, but for some unknown reason, shut his mouth. Mask leaned against Snoddy, trembling at the control she realized the Harlem newsie still had over her.
Then he was gone, clamering nimbly up the wall and vanishing into the streets.
Mask's face was stone, a brick wall. Jack wouldn't breathe a word, neither would Snoddy, and if she told Blink not to, he wouldn't. But, should she fail to do so, she was fair game to his tongue, seeing that he was basically the male equivelant to Rooftop when it came to gossip.
Rooftop, she thought dimly, even as Snoddy placed a hand on her shoulder and led her away. She shoulda been named Grapevine.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Boots placed his feet very impudently on the table before him, enjoying the waiter's disgruntled look, then moved over to make way for Snoddy and Mask as the duo entered and sat down. Mask didn't bother answering the waiter when he asked to take her order, recieving a mumbled comment on the rudeness of rowdy newsies in return.
Snoddy clasped her shoulder and gave it a firm shake.
"Hey, you okay?"
Boots took the hint, and, with a sly glance backwards, left the two alone.
"Yeah, dat was rough," Mask mumbled, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "But it happened, so dere."
She looked so mournful, Snoddy was tempted to embrace her, but decided against it. She would take it as a sign of pity, and the girl hated pity when it was being given to her.
"Hey, cheer up," he said, the words coming out awkward on his tongue. "Da boys gotta game of Poker goin' tanight...da ultimate game." He chuckled. "You'll see Race lose a bit more money, I guess."
He expected another round of borooding silence, but recieved a short laugh instead. However, it wasn't because of his comment, but because of Rooftop striding into the diner, coated from head to toe in dirty laundry water. A boy followed, tall as Jack, lanky as Crutchy, hair a fiery red, suggesting a temper, if you were one to stereotype, and eyes a gentle shade of brown, suggesting otherwise.
Mask leaped up to greet both of them, Snoddy giving a curt nod to Roof, then exchanging the traditional spitshake with Handle. Handle was a common sight amongst the Manhattan newsies, something of a wanderer. Harlem was his first permanent 'home.'
Mask smiled. "I trust you've met both of dese bums?" she inquired affectionately. Snoddy chuckled and nodded.
"Just for clarifcation," Mask continued, "dis one's called Handle 'cause...well, you should see 'im wit his daggers. Don't know wheah he loined ta throw da things like dat. Always polishin' deir handles...his favorite pastime. As ya can see, he needs a life."
She paused for effect. "He and Roof are together. So we'se gonna have ta restrain Mush."
Snoddy gave a throaty laugh, inviting them to take a seat, which they did.
Mask joined the conversation, but soon dropped out, gazing out the window, trying to remember the next part of the ballad her father had taught her.
"As the storm rattles o'er us...Till the dear sheilin' ring...Wi' the light liltin chorus..." She groped for the next verse, then finally gave up. Frustrated, and with an unexplainable feeling of forboding hanging over her, the newsgirl thrust her chair back very violently, and left the diner.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The next few days were hard ones, cash running low, tempers running high and romance running short. Many of the boys began grumbling amongst themselves about how a thing called love had very quickly fled them, sharing past experiences with previous girls and talking about a time frequently referred to as "The Golden Age."
Mask ignored their complaining, finding herself more alienated from her friends than she had felt in a long time. Even Snoddy backed off, giving her a bit of room and time to herself. Most of this time was spent sitting on Jake's bunk, the top one, and staring out at the sunlight that filtered in through a tiny window in the wall of the Lodging House, hawking headlines, and spending breakfast, lunch and dinner at Tibby's.
The girl couldn't have cared less. Her self esteem lowered another notch, along with her mood, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder more often than not. Racetrack noticed this change in behaviour and finally sat down with her one hot summer's night, out on the steps of the Lodging House.
At first, Mask looked surprised when one of her closest friends abandoned his game of Poker and plunked himself down next to her. The surprise quickly turned to happiness at his prescence, then a strange sort of apathy towards the world around her. She nodded a greeting.
"Hey dere, Mask," he smiled as she threw down a cigar she had been smoking, crushing it beneath her foot then idly toying with it where it lay in the dirt.
"Hey, Race. What happened ta your game of Poker?"
"What's a game of Poker compared ta a friend in need?" he asked. The kind words contrasted sharply with his sardonic tone, and she turned, surprised.
"A friend in need, huh? Well, dis is one friend who don't know much about ya," she said suddenly. Race went silent. "So, wheah are you from?" she asked teasingly.
Race ran a hand through his hair, removing his cap. After a long pause, he finally answered.
"I'se lived heah in New Yawk for as long as I can remembah. If I evah had parents...well, I don't remembah 'em."
"Don't remembah 'em?" Mask repeated, curious.
"Do I heah an echo?" he sighed, lighting up another cigar. "Yeah. I lived undah da care of a factory woiker for a bit. He didn't care much about me, and I don't even know why he bothered keepin' me. It was bound ta happen sooner or latah. He toined me out in da streets-"
Here, Race stopped, going no further. Mask raised an eyebrow in question.
"Den what?"
"Long story. I might tell ya someday."
And Mask marvelled at her friend, now seeing a different side to him. She had always thought of him as Racetrack, plain and simple, complex and impulsive.
This was a boy who hid his hurt behind a facade of wisecracks and insensitivity. She had broken some barriers, but not all, she realized.
Dese t'ings take time. Don't rush him. You wouldn't want ta be rushed inta spillin' your guts before you was ready.
A streak of something came racing around the corner and came to a dead stop directly in front of the duo. Mask jerked in surprise at first, then relaxed at the familiar glint of blonde hair and blue eyes.
"Roof. What da hell ya doin' heah? Thought you'd be wit Handle."
"No time for dat," Roof gasped. "Listen. It's Gambler. I tell ya, dere's nothin' more dangerous den an insane person on da warpath. And dat's just what-"
"Roof. Tawkin' again. Dat's all goils are good for, dat and a bit of pleasure," a thing voice piped up out of the darkness. Mask's breath caught in her throat, and Racetrack rose to his feet, squinting.
Gambler emerged out of nowhere, a sneer pasting his features. Roof backed off a little, biting her lower lip. Gambler laughed and shoved her aside, giving Race but a fleeting glance.
"Well Mask, tanight's da night. Da end of da road for you."
Mask's voice was expressionless, as was her face when she spoke.
"I ain't done nothin' ta you, Gambler, so just leave me alone. Da choices odder people make ain't mine." She backed off, hands raised. "I nevah asked ta be named leadah. Position's all yours."
"You afraid ta fight me?" he leered, stepping closer, close enough that he could, and did reached out and fondled her cheek, then let his hand stray lower. Mask struck it away, smiling grimly.
"Naw. I ain't afraid. But since ya asked for it-"
She cut herself off, throwing several punches his way, all of which he blocked. She was finally able to get a fist low on his stomach, making him double over. As she stepped back a few paces, he dropped to the ground and allowed his leg to swing, forming an arc that knocked the newsgirl off her feet.
She recovered quickly, and was horrified to come up finding him standing over her, dagger clutched in hand. She turned for an instant, to find Race making his way over to assist her, then gave him a withering look that stopped the boy dead in his tracks.
Sorry, Race. Dis is one fight I'se fightin' alone. Can't afford anyone gettin' hoit.
The dagger flashed downwards, and she managed to roll to one side just in time, then find her feet once more.
Let's see how well ya handle rooftops, Gambler, she thought, and vaulted over to a stack of barrels lying against the wall of the Lodging House. Painfully and with absolutely no grace whatsoever, she managed to clamber up onto the roof, leaping down on the other side, Gambler close on her heels.
Just as he was about to let himself down, Mask slipped off towards the other side of the building once more, and climbed back onto the roof, taking a random wooden bucket with her. She watched as his feet touched the ground, and allowed the bucket to drop straight on Gambler's head.
He staggered around for a bit, long enough to allow her time to climb off the roof, snatching up a pole of twisted iron she had found lying in the gutter, waiting for him to remove the bucket.
Once he did, she brought the iron crashing down onto his skull. He lurched forwards, stunned.
Boy's gotta head as hard as iron, she thought, vaguely amused.
Gambler came up, blood running down his neck. Mask threw another fist, letting it land on his nose, disgusted at the feel of warm blood gushing through her fingers.
Gambler finally retaliated by grabbing her collar and slamming her against the brick wall, grinning.
"Think ya got me?"
Silence. The girl couldn't do much more but gasp for air, exauhsted limbs trembling.
"Think again!"
The girl was momentarily stunned as he drove a fist into her face, paused, reconsidered, then drove it into her face three times over. She saw stars for a moment, then pulled away, staggering back to the front of the building.
Before she could fully recover, Gambler was on her again, fists flying. The girl managed to recover, and the two went down together, fighting tooth and nail. Mask was surprised Gambler hadn't drawn the infamous dagger again.
The duo broke away, and in the back of her mind, Mask dimly wondered where Race had gone to. She didn't have time to think further, Gambler grabbing her around the throat, fingers clenching. She struggled, and finally managed to break away, panting hard. To her dismay, she found Gambler, although he was covered in blood, was braething lightly, poised to strike again.
She dropped back, trying to anticipate his next move but finding that her brain refused to think. He lunged at her again, and she tried to sidestep, but he was too fast for her.
Her eyes widened as she saw a flash of metal, and felt a sharp pain in her side. She was barely aware of the blood that seeped through her clothing-her blood, and just dimly felt herself hitting the pavement as she fell.
She was also dimly aware of something gold creating an arc through the air and crashing down on the side of Gambler's head.
Looks a lot like...like
Suddenly, she wasn't in Manhattan, but far away in a small town deep in the heart of Virginia, watching two boys she had once know: a Martin McKeary and a Francis Sullivan playing cards.
Martin brandished the card. "I would've won anyway," he laughed. "Ace of Spades. The Death Card."
Then she saw nothing but life, flourishing, and green, a verdant green as was never seen before...
And after, that, she saw no more, even as the sky opened up, letting down bitter tears, and the wind sang a song of mourning.
Snoddy came racing down the stairs and out of the doors of the Lodging House, Racetrack three steps ahead of him. The duo were followed by almost the entire population of Manhattan newsboys.
It was an odd sight, most of the newsies already in nothing but underwear, having gotten ready for bed by now, standing in the frigid night air under skies that poured rain.
Snoddy dropped to his knees beside his fallen comrade, cradling her head in his lap. He barely noticed Spot Conlon materialize out of the darkness, right hand covered in fresh blood, gold tipped cane discarded on the damp ground.
Snoddy's face was filled with disbelief, feeling very vividly as Mask's lifeblood seeped into his clothes, staining his shirt a deep scarlet. He glanced up at the Brooklyn leader.
Spot's face was expressionless, and he gazed disspassionately down at the fallen girl, Key of Brooklyn, Mask of Harlem, Mask of Manhattan. His jaw was set.
"A life for a life. I made sure of dat." His voice was hollow. "You'll find Gambler's body somewhere back dere," he added, jerking a thumb in the direction. Jack gaped.
"You..." he drew in a sharp breath. "You...?"
Spot said nothing, just tossed Gambler's bloodied dagger, watching as it came to rest at Mask's feet, then letting the rain pour, allowing it to fill his ears in a single, thunderous noise, the droplets of crystal dancing over the pavement.
And the stars, though partially obscured by clouds, stood as witness.
A life for a life.
The words repeated themselves over and over in Snoddy's head, and he turned his face skywards, letting the water dribble and course in rivulets over his cheeks and eyelids.
April shower...just another April shower...
And then the world faded into darkness.
Nothing but darkness.