Come on, I want more reviews ya'll! Haha, don't make me beg anymore than I already am! Anyway, I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter, it's another one of those pivotal ones...
Chapter Six: Where is your loyalty...
Specs stirred in his sleep, scaring a rat. He, Skittery, and Snoddy had taken up residence in a dirty alley after they had been kicked out of the lodging house. Well, not technically kicked out, but it had been, in essence, the same thing. The three were actually racking up a considerable amount of money, considering that they didn't have to pay any boarding or rent. And, once again, they were completely oblivious to the watching eyes upon them.. Yes, these were the boys that had crossed him. They had started this whole thing and indirectly caused the serious injury of his baby sister (who was actually recovering quite nicely under the unrelenting care of Snipeshooter.) Cut was merely waiting for an opportune moment to unleash his pent-up anger upon these unlucky three souls who had picked the wrong Bronx leader to mess with.
---
The next day passed, assimilating into night. More days passed in generally the same fashion, eventually becoming a week. A week filled with mental, emotional, and physical turmoil for the East Side boys. Needless to say, more fights had broken out, confining Bumlets and Jake to the sick room. The conflict had diffused into other areas as well. Switchback and Ace from Brooklyn, having inevitably sided with Manhattan, had crossed into the territory of Queens, who were known for their strong alliance with the Bronx. Diablo and his goons had worked the two over pretty well. Needless to say, Spot was not happy. Leave it to Brooklyn to make every fight their own. The original conflict was nearly forgotten amidst all the scuffle in the other boroughs, but Cut was the type that tended to hold a grudge. Especially when the original conflict involved his baby sister, of whom he was fiercely protective, much to her chagrin, of course. She was recovering quite nicely in Manhattan, where most of the injured had been taken, and was back to selling already. None of this mattered to Cut. The deed had been done, and they would pay. They would pay until they learned to stay on their own territory. Cut leaned back in his rickety wooden chair as he pondered these things, the pencil snapping between his long, lean fingers and shattering into thousands of tiny splinters.
---
Race and Blink were doing all they could to protect their boys, while at the same time keeping their spirits up. But as they stood by the bedside of a dying Itey, they still couldn't help wondering, "What would Jack do…?" Blink turned around, swallowing a lump that was forming in his throat, and followed Race back to the bunkroom.
---
Get up at dawn, milk the cows, collect the eggs, work with the horses, bring in the cows, do any odd jobs around the farm, go to bed, get up, do the same thing over again. None of the wild mustangs Jack had imagined. There was the rare new colt that needed breaking, but that was a piece of cake--for the other ranch hands. The most interaction Jack usually got with the horses was grooming them. There was the occasional unruly bull that got out of order, but, once again, that wasn't Jack's job. Now, granted, Jack was enjoying the sharp contrast of calm, rural Santa Fe from bustling New York. Sure, it was the same sun shining through the clouds, but it was somehow undeniably different here. The air was so pure, undefiled by industry. But, on the other hand, Jack was beginning to feel out of his element. He wasn't used to not being in charge. His dream of Santa Fe had included finally being his own boss, having no one over him. His disillusioned mind was at last beginning to realize that his dreams were unrealistic. As he gazed out over the Rodgers' estate, he imagined the work that had gone into creating such a beautiful home. Back in New York, he hadn't taken into account the years of labor that would have to go into making his dream a reality. This left a feeling of emptiness, as if his eight years of selling papers had gone for naught. As he contemplated these feelings over and over, Jack looked down at his plate and disinterestedly pushed his food around with his fork.
"Jack, what's the matter with you today?" Mike questioned, breaking the uncharacteristic silence of the dinner table.
Jack's head jerked up at the sound of his name. "Huh? Oh, yeah, dis is a lovely dinner, Mrs. Rodgers."
The other two looked at each other with furrowed brows, then back at their sullen ranch hand. "Jack, come now, tell us what's bothering you."
The intense look of motherly compassion in Mrs. Rodger's eyes persuaded Jack to spill his guts immediately.
---
As the boys exited the lodging house the next morning, Blink and Race were stopped by a tall, thin young man who seemed to come out of the shadows. Blink immediately drew his blade and the boys were on their guard. The other man simply back up and held out his hands to show that he was harmless.
"Calm down, brethren, I mean you no harm. I come as a friend." He paused as the guys glanced warily between each other and him and Blink put away his knife. "I am called Preacher. I have come to be of assistance in your time of need. I will take care of your injured, perform any last rites, and do anything else I can to help."
Race glared at the stranger in confusion. "So, lemme get dis straight. You heard about da war, an' you'se comin ta 'elp us?"
"Yes. I believe that you have been wronged and would like to help right this injustice."
"So, dat's whatchu do? Go 'roud, 'elpin people?" Blink folded his arms and furrowed his brow at the man, who only nodded. "How do ya make a livin? Where do ya live?"
"The Lord provides. I have hardly known a day of hunger in years and am always provided with a place to sleep. I live wherever God leads me. I am a servant of the Lord and have been called to help his children." Preacher looked with a kind smile at each of the other men, who were still scrutinizing him.
Race nodded at the quiet, meek young man and pulled Blink around to consult with him. "Whaddya t'ink of 'im, Kid?"
"He seems harmless enough to me," Blink whispered with a shrug. "He wants ta 'elp us out, an' I say we need awl da 'elp we can get."
"Yeah, I guess you'se right. You sure we can trust 'im though?"
Blink gave his friend a "duh" look. "Come on, Race. Da kid's got a Bible in 'is pocket."
Race shrugged and turned around, once again meeting Preacher's kind, bespectacled gaze. He extended his hand and smiled warmly. "Well Preacher, it's good to 'ave ya on our side.
---
Skittery hissed and dragged Specs into an adjacent alley. "Guys, remember, we'se gotta be careful. When ya sees a big, tough-lookin guy glarin at ya from da shadows, don't try an sell 'im a paper!" Skittery whacked Specs upside the head with a roll of his eyes as Snoddy smirked and sniggered softly, shaking his own head. He then launched into a calm tirade of sorts.
"Ey Skitts, be easy on him. Some of us aren't used to having to run from big guys with knives and brass knuckles who want to carve out our guts because our so-called leader doesn't know how to stay on his own territory."
Skittery's nostrils flared. "Ya know what Snoddy? I'se sick o' you an' yer hoity-toity attitude, always t'inkin yer bettah den everyone else!"
Snoddy cut him off with a challenging, "So what are you going to do about it?"
"Boys, boys, please!" Specs cut in. He felt as if he had held his peace for too long. "What are we doin? If we wanna survive, we'se gots ta stick togedda! Now our first mistake was goin against Race an Blink. Ain't we learned our lesson yet? Yeah, so we was wrong. But we all makes mistakes, right? Let's jus try ta get along, please!" His lack of proper sleep contributed to crankiness, which made him somewhat whiny, which only served to further annoy the other two.
"So what now, oh great peacemaker?" Skittery spat with an angry scowl. "Where do we go from 'ere? We'se as good as dead out 'ere anyway. We'se was da ones dat started dis whole mess! We'se got half a' New York City after us!" Granted, it was only the Bronx and the east side of Manhattan, but he was in no mood for specifics.
"We keep a low profile, dat's what. Skip sellin for a few days, jus wait for it to blow over I guess." Specs sighed wearily, glancing from an exasperated Skittery to a once again taciturn Snoddy.
The angry, stubborn look began to melt off of Skittery's features and he patted his friend on the back. "Yeah Specs, I guess yer right fer once." A slight smirk pulled at his lips until Specs proffered another suggestion.
"Hey guys, uh, whadaya t'ink a' maybe goin back ta da lodgin house, joinin back up wit da boys?" he asked, somewhat meekly.
Skittery shoved him away lightly. "No, we ain't gonna go crawlin back to dem! What'll we look like?"
"We'll look like a few guys dat made a mistake and's sorry!"
"No!" Skittery shot back. "We'll look like a couple a' stupid boneheads dat don't know how to take care o' ourselves! Dey pro'lly won't even take us back anyway."
Snoddy silenced the bickering with a step forward, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. "Stop it you two, just shut up. I don't know how much more disagreement I can take. We all made mistakes, individually--" at this word, he took a pause and made eye contact with each of the other two, "--and as a group. There's nothing we can do about that now. We're not going back to the house, because they most likely have no clue what they're doing either."
"So whadaya suggest we do?" Skittery snarled, his voice heavy with challenge.
Snoddy continued evenly, unphased. "Specs mentioned keeping a low profile. I say we leave for a week or so."
"Skip town?" Specs shook his head and shoved his glasses up his nose.
"Yes, 'skip town,'" Snoddy repeated mockingly. "It makes more sense than anything you two boneheads have come up with."
Skittery glared at him with folded arms. "Alright Snoddy, dat's it! You been causin trouble from da beginnin! Go, get outta here! I'se sick a' runnin from me problems!"
Snoddy's gaze shifted slightly and his voice wavered. "Yeah, I guess you're right Skitts. I-I'm sorry, I'll stay." The thought of sneaking out into the hard, cold world didn't seem so appealing alone.
"No." The word resounded harsh and resolute in Snoddy's ears. Skittery continued. "You ain't wit us no more. Me an Specs is goin back to da house, joinin back wit da boys." His nearly menacing glare bored deep into Specs and silenced any words that had been on his lips.
Snoddy shook his head contemptibly. "Fine. Yes, it was my idea to leave and start a borough war, it was all my fault!"
Skittery cut him off once again. "I made a mistake an I admit it! You'se had a bad attitude from da beginnin! It was supposed to be peaceful. Snoddy, we don't want you around if yer jus gonna keep causin trouble.
Snoddy lowered his head and nodded, chuckling slightly. It was amazing how narrow-minded and lame-brained people had become these days. Not able to think of anything appropriate to say, he simply gave the two a sad, "you have no idea what you're doing," smile, turned around, and walked away.
"Sn--" Specs was again silenced by Skittery.
"Let 'im go." Skittery gave Specs an apprehensive look. The other boy looked about ready to follow Snoddy away. "You wit me or not?"
Specs looked from Skittery back to Snoddy, troubled. "Yeah…yeah, I'se jus worried bout 'im, is all."
Skittery sighed, not wanting to admit that he, too, had had trouble letting their friend go. He slung an arm over Specs' shoulders and turned him around, heading towards Duane Street. "Yeah…well, let's get outta here…"
---
To the rest of New York City, the war wasn't going on. The police didn't notice, or most likely, simply didn't care about this simple child's play. The only difference the public noticed was that there were a few less newsboys around the city than usual, and those that remained were even more beaten up and rough looking than usual. Most didn't even notice this. But no one, save a few kindly old people or alarmed mothering types, even cared enough to ask about the "horrid-looking" black eyes and busted lips. The rest, if they noticed, barely cast questioning glances. That's how things were in New York. You stay outta my life, I'll stay outta yours. It had been not two months ago that this ragged band of newsboys, poor orphans and runaways, had changed their world, made the public listen. Now it was all they could do to keep enough attention to sell a few papers every day.
"Heya Race, you goin down to da tracks today?" Pie Eater asked curiously, almost tentatively, waking Racetrack from his reverie. All of the guys had noticed that the normally avid gambler hadn't been frequenting Sheepshead Bay as much as of late. Usually, when he was done selling, he would spend the rest of the day at the horse races, betting: sometimes successfully, usually not. The boys wouldn't see him until late that night when he would slink back to the lodging house and start a late night poker game or join one that was already in progress. However, lately Race had been sticking around the east side all day, sometimes even turning in early.
Race shook his head. "Nah, I'se got some stuff to do around here. Sides, I'se kinda tired." He yawned and stretched slightly for affect.
Blink grinned over at his co-leader. Race really was taking this leadership business seriously. He patted his friend on the back and talked to him softly as Pie joined Itey and returned to selling. "Ey buddy, you sure you don't wanna take a little break? You deserve an afternoon off, go on, go down to Sheepshead."
"Nah, it's alright, you guys might need me or somethin." Upon noting Blink's slight eyebrow twitch, Race quickly added as an afterthought, "I actually have more money now den I did when I was bettin all da time!"
Blink chuckled, in spite of feeling slightly pricked by Blink's first statement. "No really, we'll be fine. I'll take care of anything dat happens. I doubt if we'll have any problems anyway."
Race shrugged almost apologetically. "Nah, I'd be scared to leave you guys alone." He was quite impressed with himself. He had really been growing up, becoming quite self-sacrificing.
"So, you sayin I ain't good enough to handle dis alone, eh?" Blink challenged, folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.
"Uhh…" Race was caught at a loss for words. That certainly wasn't how he had meant it…or was it? "No Kid, it ain't dat…I jus don't wanna, you know, neglect my leadership duties and such."
Blink unconsciously rolled up his sleeves. "Race, I'se perfectly capable of handling dis situation meself."
"Oh yeah? You t'ink you can take dis on your own, huh? What if I just walked out? What would you guys to den?"
"Well why don't we find out, eh?" Blink snarled, lunging at him.
"Blink!" Race yelled, fending him off and grabbing him by the shoulders, trying to calm down a bit. "Look, let's cut dis out. We don't need to be fightin wit each other, dere's enough violence goin on."
Blink pulled away, taking a deep breath and dropping his head. "Yeah, you'se right." He brought his head back up to give his friend an apologetic look. "It' just all so…overwhelmin, ya know?"
"I know, Blink, I'se right here with ya, buddy." Race nodded, glancing around at the diminishing activity of the bunkroom. "It's stressful, bein in charge of a…of a war an all." He chuckled sardonically, then fell silent for a moment. "I guess I could use a break. But you get one too, Kid. I don't wanna feel like no slacker!"
Blink laughed, relieved that a major altercation had been avoided. All they needed was another disagreement. "Well maybe, but not at the same time!"
"Course not, ya bonehead!" Race jested good-naturedly. "How bout I go to da tracks today, and you go out tomorrow. I dunno, go on a date or somethin."
A grin spread over Blink's face at the suggestion. "Yeah? Well, ya know, dere was dis one goil I sorta had me eye on, before all dis started up."
"Oh yeah?" Race sat down on his bed and lit a cigar, listening intently. "What her name?"
"Anabelle," Blink murmured dreamily. "She's got dis gorgeous red hair, but she don't look like a whore or nothin." He ignored Race's snigger and continued. "And dose eyes…bright blue…" He trailed off, climbing up to his bunk. The guys spent the rest of the evening in like manner, talking about things normal guys talk about, laughing and joking with each other. Just like normal guys, they almost momentarily forgot about the war that plagued the normalcy of the troubled boys, boys no older than themselves…boys that they were, in a sense, responsible for. But they could not completely block out the carnage and danger that afflicted them day after day, lurking around every corner and in the shadows, helpless to do anything about it.
Chapter Six: Where is your loyalty...
Specs stirred in his sleep, scaring a rat. He, Skittery, and Snoddy had taken up residence in a dirty alley after they had been kicked out of the lodging house. Well, not technically kicked out, but it had been, in essence, the same thing. The three were actually racking up a considerable amount of money, considering that they didn't have to pay any boarding or rent. And, once again, they were completely oblivious to the watching eyes upon them.. Yes, these were the boys that had crossed him. They had started this whole thing and indirectly caused the serious injury of his baby sister (who was actually recovering quite nicely under the unrelenting care of Snipeshooter.) Cut was merely waiting for an opportune moment to unleash his pent-up anger upon these unlucky three souls who had picked the wrong Bronx leader to mess with.
---
The next day passed, assimilating into night. More days passed in generally the same fashion, eventually becoming a week. A week filled with mental, emotional, and physical turmoil for the East Side boys. Needless to say, more fights had broken out, confining Bumlets and Jake to the sick room. The conflict had diffused into other areas as well. Switchback and Ace from Brooklyn, having inevitably sided with Manhattan, had crossed into the territory of Queens, who were known for their strong alliance with the Bronx. Diablo and his goons had worked the two over pretty well. Needless to say, Spot was not happy. Leave it to Brooklyn to make every fight their own. The original conflict was nearly forgotten amidst all the scuffle in the other boroughs, but Cut was the type that tended to hold a grudge. Especially when the original conflict involved his baby sister, of whom he was fiercely protective, much to her chagrin, of course. She was recovering quite nicely in Manhattan, where most of the injured had been taken, and was back to selling already. None of this mattered to Cut. The deed had been done, and they would pay. They would pay until they learned to stay on their own territory. Cut leaned back in his rickety wooden chair as he pondered these things, the pencil snapping between his long, lean fingers and shattering into thousands of tiny splinters.
---
Race and Blink were doing all they could to protect their boys, while at the same time keeping their spirits up. But as they stood by the bedside of a dying Itey, they still couldn't help wondering, "What would Jack do…?" Blink turned around, swallowing a lump that was forming in his throat, and followed Race back to the bunkroom.
---
Get up at dawn, milk the cows, collect the eggs, work with the horses, bring in the cows, do any odd jobs around the farm, go to bed, get up, do the same thing over again. None of the wild mustangs Jack had imagined. There was the rare new colt that needed breaking, but that was a piece of cake--for the other ranch hands. The most interaction Jack usually got with the horses was grooming them. There was the occasional unruly bull that got out of order, but, once again, that wasn't Jack's job. Now, granted, Jack was enjoying the sharp contrast of calm, rural Santa Fe from bustling New York. Sure, it was the same sun shining through the clouds, but it was somehow undeniably different here. The air was so pure, undefiled by industry. But, on the other hand, Jack was beginning to feel out of his element. He wasn't used to not being in charge. His dream of Santa Fe had included finally being his own boss, having no one over him. His disillusioned mind was at last beginning to realize that his dreams were unrealistic. As he gazed out over the Rodgers' estate, he imagined the work that had gone into creating such a beautiful home. Back in New York, he hadn't taken into account the years of labor that would have to go into making his dream a reality. This left a feeling of emptiness, as if his eight years of selling papers had gone for naught. As he contemplated these feelings over and over, Jack looked down at his plate and disinterestedly pushed his food around with his fork.
"Jack, what's the matter with you today?" Mike questioned, breaking the uncharacteristic silence of the dinner table.
Jack's head jerked up at the sound of his name. "Huh? Oh, yeah, dis is a lovely dinner, Mrs. Rodgers."
The other two looked at each other with furrowed brows, then back at their sullen ranch hand. "Jack, come now, tell us what's bothering you."
The intense look of motherly compassion in Mrs. Rodger's eyes persuaded Jack to spill his guts immediately.
---
As the boys exited the lodging house the next morning, Blink and Race were stopped by a tall, thin young man who seemed to come out of the shadows. Blink immediately drew his blade and the boys were on their guard. The other man simply back up and held out his hands to show that he was harmless.
"Calm down, brethren, I mean you no harm. I come as a friend." He paused as the guys glanced warily between each other and him and Blink put away his knife. "I am called Preacher. I have come to be of assistance in your time of need. I will take care of your injured, perform any last rites, and do anything else I can to help."
Race glared at the stranger in confusion. "So, lemme get dis straight. You heard about da war, an' you'se comin ta 'elp us?"
"Yes. I believe that you have been wronged and would like to help right this injustice."
"So, dat's whatchu do? Go 'roud, 'elpin people?" Blink folded his arms and furrowed his brow at the man, who only nodded. "How do ya make a livin? Where do ya live?"
"The Lord provides. I have hardly known a day of hunger in years and am always provided with a place to sleep. I live wherever God leads me. I am a servant of the Lord and have been called to help his children." Preacher looked with a kind smile at each of the other men, who were still scrutinizing him.
Race nodded at the quiet, meek young man and pulled Blink around to consult with him. "Whaddya t'ink of 'im, Kid?"
"He seems harmless enough to me," Blink whispered with a shrug. "He wants ta 'elp us out, an' I say we need awl da 'elp we can get."
"Yeah, I guess you'se right. You sure we can trust 'im though?"
Blink gave his friend a "duh" look. "Come on, Race. Da kid's got a Bible in 'is pocket."
Race shrugged and turned around, once again meeting Preacher's kind, bespectacled gaze. He extended his hand and smiled warmly. "Well Preacher, it's good to 'ave ya on our side.
---
Skittery hissed and dragged Specs into an adjacent alley. "Guys, remember, we'se gotta be careful. When ya sees a big, tough-lookin guy glarin at ya from da shadows, don't try an sell 'im a paper!" Skittery whacked Specs upside the head with a roll of his eyes as Snoddy smirked and sniggered softly, shaking his own head. He then launched into a calm tirade of sorts.
"Ey Skitts, be easy on him. Some of us aren't used to having to run from big guys with knives and brass knuckles who want to carve out our guts because our so-called leader doesn't know how to stay on his own territory."
Skittery's nostrils flared. "Ya know what Snoddy? I'se sick o' you an' yer hoity-toity attitude, always t'inkin yer bettah den everyone else!"
Snoddy cut him off with a challenging, "So what are you going to do about it?"
"Boys, boys, please!" Specs cut in. He felt as if he had held his peace for too long. "What are we doin? If we wanna survive, we'se gots ta stick togedda! Now our first mistake was goin against Race an Blink. Ain't we learned our lesson yet? Yeah, so we was wrong. But we all makes mistakes, right? Let's jus try ta get along, please!" His lack of proper sleep contributed to crankiness, which made him somewhat whiny, which only served to further annoy the other two.
"So what now, oh great peacemaker?" Skittery spat with an angry scowl. "Where do we go from 'ere? We'se as good as dead out 'ere anyway. We'se was da ones dat started dis whole mess! We'se got half a' New York City after us!" Granted, it was only the Bronx and the east side of Manhattan, but he was in no mood for specifics.
"We keep a low profile, dat's what. Skip sellin for a few days, jus wait for it to blow over I guess." Specs sighed wearily, glancing from an exasperated Skittery to a once again taciturn Snoddy.
The angry, stubborn look began to melt off of Skittery's features and he patted his friend on the back. "Yeah Specs, I guess yer right fer once." A slight smirk pulled at his lips until Specs proffered another suggestion.
"Hey guys, uh, whadaya t'ink a' maybe goin back ta da lodgin house, joinin back up wit da boys?" he asked, somewhat meekly.
Skittery shoved him away lightly. "No, we ain't gonna go crawlin back to dem! What'll we look like?"
"We'll look like a few guys dat made a mistake and's sorry!"
"No!" Skittery shot back. "We'll look like a couple a' stupid boneheads dat don't know how to take care o' ourselves! Dey pro'lly won't even take us back anyway."
Snoddy silenced the bickering with a step forward, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. "Stop it you two, just shut up. I don't know how much more disagreement I can take. We all made mistakes, individually--" at this word, he took a pause and made eye contact with each of the other two, "--and as a group. There's nothing we can do about that now. We're not going back to the house, because they most likely have no clue what they're doing either."
"So whadaya suggest we do?" Skittery snarled, his voice heavy with challenge.
Snoddy continued evenly, unphased. "Specs mentioned keeping a low profile. I say we leave for a week or so."
"Skip town?" Specs shook his head and shoved his glasses up his nose.
"Yes, 'skip town,'" Snoddy repeated mockingly. "It makes more sense than anything you two boneheads have come up with."
Skittery glared at him with folded arms. "Alright Snoddy, dat's it! You been causin trouble from da beginnin! Go, get outta here! I'se sick a' runnin from me problems!"
Snoddy's gaze shifted slightly and his voice wavered. "Yeah, I guess you're right Skitts. I-I'm sorry, I'll stay." The thought of sneaking out into the hard, cold world didn't seem so appealing alone.
"No." The word resounded harsh and resolute in Snoddy's ears. Skittery continued. "You ain't wit us no more. Me an Specs is goin back to da house, joinin back wit da boys." His nearly menacing glare bored deep into Specs and silenced any words that had been on his lips.
Snoddy shook his head contemptibly. "Fine. Yes, it was my idea to leave and start a borough war, it was all my fault!"
Skittery cut him off once again. "I made a mistake an I admit it! You'se had a bad attitude from da beginnin! It was supposed to be peaceful. Snoddy, we don't want you around if yer jus gonna keep causin trouble.
Snoddy lowered his head and nodded, chuckling slightly. It was amazing how narrow-minded and lame-brained people had become these days. Not able to think of anything appropriate to say, he simply gave the two a sad, "you have no idea what you're doing," smile, turned around, and walked away.
"Sn--" Specs was again silenced by Skittery.
"Let 'im go." Skittery gave Specs an apprehensive look. The other boy looked about ready to follow Snoddy away. "You wit me or not?"
Specs looked from Skittery back to Snoddy, troubled. "Yeah…yeah, I'se jus worried bout 'im, is all."
Skittery sighed, not wanting to admit that he, too, had had trouble letting their friend go. He slung an arm over Specs' shoulders and turned him around, heading towards Duane Street. "Yeah…well, let's get outta here…"
---
To the rest of New York City, the war wasn't going on. The police didn't notice, or most likely, simply didn't care about this simple child's play. The only difference the public noticed was that there were a few less newsboys around the city than usual, and those that remained were even more beaten up and rough looking than usual. Most didn't even notice this. But no one, save a few kindly old people or alarmed mothering types, even cared enough to ask about the "horrid-looking" black eyes and busted lips. The rest, if they noticed, barely cast questioning glances. That's how things were in New York. You stay outta my life, I'll stay outta yours. It had been not two months ago that this ragged band of newsboys, poor orphans and runaways, had changed their world, made the public listen. Now it was all they could do to keep enough attention to sell a few papers every day.
"Heya Race, you goin down to da tracks today?" Pie Eater asked curiously, almost tentatively, waking Racetrack from his reverie. All of the guys had noticed that the normally avid gambler hadn't been frequenting Sheepshead Bay as much as of late. Usually, when he was done selling, he would spend the rest of the day at the horse races, betting: sometimes successfully, usually not. The boys wouldn't see him until late that night when he would slink back to the lodging house and start a late night poker game or join one that was already in progress. However, lately Race had been sticking around the east side all day, sometimes even turning in early.
Race shook his head. "Nah, I'se got some stuff to do around here. Sides, I'se kinda tired." He yawned and stretched slightly for affect.
Blink grinned over at his co-leader. Race really was taking this leadership business seriously. He patted his friend on the back and talked to him softly as Pie joined Itey and returned to selling. "Ey buddy, you sure you don't wanna take a little break? You deserve an afternoon off, go on, go down to Sheepshead."
"Nah, it's alright, you guys might need me or somethin." Upon noting Blink's slight eyebrow twitch, Race quickly added as an afterthought, "I actually have more money now den I did when I was bettin all da time!"
Blink chuckled, in spite of feeling slightly pricked by Blink's first statement. "No really, we'll be fine. I'll take care of anything dat happens. I doubt if we'll have any problems anyway."
Race shrugged almost apologetically. "Nah, I'd be scared to leave you guys alone." He was quite impressed with himself. He had really been growing up, becoming quite self-sacrificing.
"So, you sayin I ain't good enough to handle dis alone, eh?" Blink challenged, folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.
"Uhh…" Race was caught at a loss for words. That certainly wasn't how he had meant it…or was it? "No Kid, it ain't dat…I jus don't wanna, you know, neglect my leadership duties and such."
Blink unconsciously rolled up his sleeves. "Race, I'se perfectly capable of handling dis situation meself."
"Oh yeah? You t'ink you can take dis on your own, huh? What if I just walked out? What would you guys to den?"
"Well why don't we find out, eh?" Blink snarled, lunging at him.
"Blink!" Race yelled, fending him off and grabbing him by the shoulders, trying to calm down a bit. "Look, let's cut dis out. We don't need to be fightin wit each other, dere's enough violence goin on."
Blink pulled away, taking a deep breath and dropping his head. "Yeah, you'se right." He brought his head back up to give his friend an apologetic look. "It' just all so…overwhelmin, ya know?"
"I know, Blink, I'se right here with ya, buddy." Race nodded, glancing around at the diminishing activity of the bunkroom. "It's stressful, bein in charge of a…of a war an all." He chuckled sardonically, then fell silent for a moment. "I guess I could use a break. But you get one too, Kid. I don't wanna feel like no slacker!"
Blink laughed, relieved that a major altercation had been avoided. All they needed was another disagreement. "Well maybe, but not at the same time!"
"Course not, ya bonehead!" Race jested good-naturedly. "How bout I go to da tracks today, and you go out tomorrow. I dunno, go on a date or somethin."
A grin spread over Blink's face at the suggestion. "Yeah? Well, ya know, dere was dis one goil I sorta had me eye on, before all dis started up."
"Oh yeah?" Race sat down on his bed and lit a cigar, listening intently. "What her name?"
"Anabelle," Blink murmured dreamily. "She's got dis gorgeous red hair, but she don't look like a whore or nothin." He ignored Race's snigger and continued. "And dose eyes…bright blue…" He trailed off, climbing up to his bunk. The guys spent the rest of the evening in like manner, talking about things normal guys talk about, laughing and joking with each other. Just like normal guys, they almost momentarily forgot about the war that plagued the normalcy of the troubled boys, boys no older than themselves…boys that they were, in a sense, responsible for. But they could not completely block out the carnage and danger that afflicted them day after day, lurking around every corner and in the shadows, helpless to do anything about it.