Spot's Milkshake
Chapter Three: Havana Cigar Please
Disclaimer: I don't the Newsie characters i.e. Spot and Racetrack. I do however own the rest of the characters and the plot!
For the next 15 minutes, I observed my surroundings. There were hundreds of antique looking cigars. Shelves that contained old black boxes of cigars lined the walls. It looked like my job was going to be easy. No one came in, despite the crowded, noisy streets outside.
I was enjoying myself until a boy walked in. My muscles tightened as his gaze fell upon the merchandise. I waited for him to make his decision. It took longer than I would've wanted. It bugged me, because all the cigars looked the same to me. Could it really be that hard to decide if he wanted the one on the right, or the one on the left?
"Nice place ya gots heah." He leaned over the counter, looking at me with soft brown eyes.
"Ain't mine. I jus' woik heah." I informed him.
"A Havana cigar if ya would." He told me. I looked at all the cigars on display. Which one was a "havana" one? They all looked the same to me. I nervously looked at him. He seemed irritated. I quickly looked back down at my selection. I placed my hand over a cigar the was on the far right.
"Dat ain't it." He said with no emotion. I moved my hand over two cigars, and looked at him. "Nope"
I was getting annoyed by now. I touched one on the left this time, and placed it under his nose.
"You 'ave no idea what you're doin do ya?" He asked, smiling.
"No. I spose you do?" I challenged.
"Well, I know dat da one I want ain't even in dat row." He laughed as he pointed at a larger cigar on the top row. I grabbed it with sweaty palms and shoved it at him. I hastily looked down at an old, yellowing piece of paper that listed all the types of cigars and their prices.
"Forty cents." I held out my hand, waiting for him to pay. He flipped me the money and continued to look around.
"I spose you've never been 'ere then?" I asked. The expression on his face was full of curiosity. He lit his cigar causally, not answering me. I looked at him menacingly. It took him awhile to notice that I was waiting for him to answer. He seemed amused by the whole situation.
"Nah, neva been heah. Friend o mine told me bout it. Said I would like it." He took a long drag on his cigar and started to walk to the back room. I ran up to the door and blocked the doorway.
"Where'd ya think ya was goin?" I asked him. It was my turn to smile. He looked at me wildly.
"I didn't think such a nice lil' goily would mind." He gushed at me, trying to get past me. I refused.
"Yea? Well dis lil' goil does mind. Why'd ya wanna go back dere anyhow?"
"I wanted ta look round." His voice was rising. "Look, I've 'ad a bad day. Could ya jus' cut me some slack?" He asked as he pushed my arms to my side and walked past me. I watched him for a moment, then followed him.
"I'd love ta cut you some slack, cept dere ain't a reason too!" I spat at him.
"Alrigh, alrigh." He puffed some smoke from his cigar and headed to the door. I returned to the counter and watched him leave. He didn't leave. He turned around at looked at me. "You're gonna need 'elp. Mind if I stay an' elp ya?" He asked.
I was taken aback. He wanted to stay here and help me? I knew I could use the help. I didn't know anything about cigars. He did.
"Ere's da plan. I ask da person what dey want, an' you get it fer em." I offered.
"Sounds alrigh." He walked back behind the counter with me, and playfully pushed me over to the side, laughing merrily. I stood back there for awhile. He basically took over, and I was getting paid for it. This day was working out for me.
"So, where ya from?" I asked.
"Manhattan." He replied. "The names Racetrack. You?" He asked.
"Er, Brandie." It was only then that I realized we hadn't exchanged names.
"Brandie? Dat a nickname or sometink? Do ya gots a nickname?" He looked back at me.
"Milkshake is me nickname." I answered. I didn't have to think about this for more than a second. I remembered what Spot had called me only the day before. Racetrack stopped talking as a group of men in their thirties walked in.
"Can I 'elp ya fellas?" Race asked in his heavy New York accent. The men told him what they wanted. He instantly picked out everything that had asked for. He turned to me and motioned for me to come help him. Help him with what though. My face must've expressed my question because he whispered in my ear,"Take dere money." He pushed me up to the counter as he told them how much they owed.
"Here ya go young lady." One of the men said, handing me his money. The taller man spoke next.
"This is a nice place you and your brother run together." He commented. Racetrack took this a step further.
"We takes pride in our 'ard woik." He said, wrapping his arm around my waist.
"Where'd you get the money to build such a fine place?" The third man asked us. It was my turn to answer.
"We inherited it from our parents." I said sweetly. Racetrack tried to muffle a laugh. All five men stared at him.
"Well, have a nice day." A brown-haired man told us.
"Same ta ya." I had to tell them , because Race was in the back room laughing to death.
Once they had left, I rushed to the back room and collapsed on the floor next to Racetrack. We laughed until we cried, and then laughed some more. The only thing that made us stop was the voice from the store.
"Excuse me, is anyone here?" A woman had entered the store. We tried to regain our composure. It was a difficult task indeed, but somehow we pulled it off.
"Yessiree madam." Racetrack said. "What'll it be?" He asked, taking a drag on his cigar. She look at him in a repulsive manner.
"I am just here to buy my husband something for his birthday. Would you recommend anything?" She asked looking from me to him. I dashed to the storage room and grabbed a box of random cigars. I laughed to myself as Racetrack hacked his brain trying to think of something to say.
"These are da best miss." I told her, throwing the box on the counter. Racetrack looked at me, his eyes laughed. I smiled as she looked at them.
"What kind are they?" She asked my smugly.
"Havana cigars of course." I told her proudly. Racetrack let out a laugh. I would've called it more of a cackle, but either one made the woman give him a horrible look.
"I suppose him'll like them. How much?" I told her the price, and handed them to her. She walked away huffily. I shot Race a glare.
"What was dat for? I asked.
"Those weren't Havana cigars." He laughed at me. I stared at him in disbelief.
"They looked like dat one!" I shouted, pointing at the cigar in his mouth.
"Yeah, but dey taste horrible. You jus' sold dat lady some shit of a cigar! Why do ya tink dey were in da back?" He laughed at me again.
"Alrigh' mister, tell me bout dem eight cigars!" I pointed at the first seven that I laid my eyes on. He studied them for a second and then answered.
"Double Claro is known ta 'ave a greenish tint on its wrapper. It's a light cigar that has had limited aging. Claro typically signifies dat the cigar will be mild. It has a light brown color. Colorado Claro has a wrapper dat is your standard brown color. Slightly stronger thean the Claro, but still considered mild. Maduro, Colorado, and Colorado Maduro have wrappers dat are dark brown an' give off an excellent aroma. Dey are considered medium ta strong cigars. The Oscuro has a black wrapper an' is strong in flavor. Bolivar cigar is not for the beginner; it's distinctively strong flavor an' robust nature draw mostly seasoned Havana aficionados. Dere are 3 kinds of smokers, occasional smoker, daytime smoker, and beginner." He concluded. I stared at him in awe.
"I know more dan ya tought don't I?" He asked me, smiling as he served another customer, who I do believe gave us both a tip when he heard Race ramble on about cigars.
"Ya know a lot I mus' say." I complimented him. He took a huge bow.
"Wow baby! Look at da time. I best be headin' home. I'll catch ya lata. An' remember, don't give nobody da beginner Sancho Panza. It has basically no flavor and tastss like shit!" He said referring to the cigars I had given that lady. "Nice woiking wit ya Milky. Here, 'ave dis." He tossed me his cigar, and pecked me on the cheek and headed out the door.
The moment I popped the cigar in my mouth, the Tabernaks walked in. The scene must've looked awkward to them, because Mrs. Tabernak looked horrified, and confused. It must have been the cigar in my mouth. I read both of their expressions before they could say anything.
"I bought it. I wouldn't steal from ya!" I told them. It wasn't all a lie. I wouldn't steal, and the cigar had been paid for. "I don't find it proper for girls to smoke." Mrs. Tabernak added her two cents. I rolled my eyes. I had tried cigars before. They weren't my favorite thing in the world, but I didn't hate them.
"Well here, go do whatever ya want with it." Mr. Tabernak handed me a crisp dollar bill. There was something I had rarely seen. I rushed out of the store, my cigar hanging from my mouth. I didn't even say thank you to the Tabernaks. I searched the town for Racetrack. He deserved some of the money too. Where did he say was from? I racked my brain for the answer. He hadn't left long ago, he had to be somewhere in the city.
After looking for some time, I finally saw him on the Brooklyn Bridge. He was halfway across, but I knew I could catch him. At least, I hoped I could.
"Racetrack!" I screamed. I was running so hard, the cigar fell out of my mouth. He didn't hear me the first time, I was too far away. I ran faster, and yelled again.
"Racetrack, I've got someting for ya!" It took several more tired and lots of energy before he heard me. He whirled around and looked for whoever was calling his name. I slowed my pace a little bit. He waited until I reached him. I almost collapsed on the spot, the stitch in my side hurt so bad, but somehow held myself up.
"Heah." I handed him the dollar. "Ya deserve it." He hesitantly took it, then handed it back.
"I was jus' doin' if fer kicks." He lied. I looked at him hard.
"Kicks or no kicks, take it." I pushed it into his hand. If it hadn't been for him, I would've made a fool out of myself, and probably wouldn't even have gotten the money. He smiled at me and took it.
"You're a good kid Milky." He smiled again, turned, and walked away.
I watched him go. I didn't expect to see him around here again. Who knew how far away Manhattan was from Brooklyn. I silently walked back across the bridge. It was much bigger when I actually had time to look at it. I didn't know what I would do for the rest of the day. I was debating whether to go to the docks, which was my original plan for the day, or go back to the Tabernaks. Before I knew where my feet were taking me, I heard a lot of splashing and goofing off. I looked up from the ground and saw that I had led myself to the docks. I cursed at myself. I didn't really want to be here when all the newsboys were. I took a seat on a nearby crate, and watched them all jump into the harbor and mess with each other. It was almost entertaining, until Harold came up to me.
"Look what we gots ourselves heah. Lil missy Milkshake is back!" He and his friends all laughed. How did they know my nickname. Only Spot and Racetrack knew that. I ignored his good looks, and looked right at his no good heart. I still had no idea why he picked on me. I just walked in Brooklyn almost a week ago, and I already had these boys on my back.
"Yeahs, what's your problem?" I asked him, staring at him hard.
"Ya 'ave no righ' ta be heah. Howeva, I would be 'appy ta let ya go fer a swim." He smiled a nasty smile. I knew what he was planning. Throwing me in the harbor wouldn't break me, unless he drowned me. Him and his friends walked closer to me, their hands were outstretched. I punched one of them in his stomach, but there was at least 4 more. Their dirty hands grasped my flesh as they hauled me off the crate. I held my breath and awaited the icy blast from the water; it never came.
"Get ya 'ands off da goil." I opened my eyes and looked past my brown hair. I saw Spot Conlon standing behind me.
"Dis is no way ta treat me guest." He said boldly. Instantly, as if my skin burned them, Harold and his friends let go of me.
"Dat's more like it." Spot said.
"Why'd ya wanna guest like dat?" Harold asked as he walked past. Spot didn't flinch, his gaze fixated on me.
"Is dis what ya do in ya spare time?" He asked, motioning with his head in Harold's direction.
"Ya know it." I replied sarcastically." He laughed.
"I would suggest ya choose a different 'obby." He looked at me seriously.
"Harold ain't no hobby o' mine." I tried not to get mad.
"Righ'. Well make yaself at 'ome." "He turned away, his cane clopping along next to him. I had no idea how much at home I would be with Harold breathing down my neck.
~A/N~ alright a few thank you's are in order here....First off, to my dear friend(penname)Vinnie Monfredo. She did the research on the cigar thing, you know when Racetrack starts running his mouth about all those different cigars! Yeah, well that couldn't have been done if Adrianne (Vinnie Monfredo) hadn't done all that research. I suggest you read her stories, they are really awesome! Anyway, I would appreciate all of your reviews and comments, thanks again. Next chappie will be up soon!
Oh, and also I made up the price of the the Havana cigar that Race purchases. I guessed because in the movie, Snipeshooter 'wants' a Havana cigar that cost a quater, so I assume that they cost more than 25 cents! How Racetrack came up with 40 cents, I will never know! Thanks again!
Chapter Three: Havana Cigar Please
Disclaimer: I don't the Newsie characters i.e. Spot and Racetrack. I do however own the rest of the characters and the plot!
For the next 15 minutes, I observed my surroundings. There were hundreds of antique looking cigars. Shelves that contained old black boxes of cigars lined the walls. It looked like my job was going to be easy. No one came in, despite the crowded, noisy streets outside.
I was enjoying myself until a boy walked in. My muscles tightened as his gaze fell upon the merchandise. I waited for him to make his decision. It took longer than I would've wanted. It bugged me, because all the cigars looked the same to me. Could it really be that hard to decide if he wanted the one on the right, or the one on the left?
"Nice place ya gots heah." He leaned over the counter, looking at me with soft brown eyes.
"Ain't mine. I jus' woik heah." I informed him.
"A Havana cigar if ya would." He told me. I looked at all the cigars on display. Which one was a "havana" one? They all looked the same to me. I nervously looked at him. He seemed irritated. I quickly looked back down at my selection. I placed my hand over a cigar the was on the far right.
"Dat ain't it." He said with no emotion. I moved my hand over two cigars, and looked at him. "Nope"
I was getting annoyed by now. I touched one on the left this time, and placed it under his nose.
"You 'ave no idea what you're doin do ya?" He asked, smiling.
"No. I spose you do?" I challenged.
"Well, I know dat da one I want ain't even in dat row." He laughed as he pointed at a larger cigar on the top row. I grabbed it with sweaty palms and shoved it at him. I hastily looked down at an old, yellowing piece of paper that listed all the types of cigars and their prices.
"Forty cents." I held out my hand, waiting for him to pay. He flipped me the money and continued to look around.
"I spose you've never been 'ere then?" I asked. The expression on his face was full of curiosity. He lit his cigar causally, not answering me. I looked at him menacingly. It took him awhile to notice that I was waiting for him to answer. He seemed amused by the whole situation.
"Nah, neva been heah. Friend o mine told me bout it. Said I would like it." He took a long drag on his cigar and started to walk to the back room. I ran up to the door and blocked the doorway.
"Where'd ya think ya was goin?" I asked him. It was my turn to smile. He looked at me wildly.
"I didn't think such a nice lil' goily would mind." He gushed at me, trying to get past me. I refused.
"Yea? Well dis lil' goil does mind. Why'd ya wanna go back dere anyhow?"
"I wanted ta look round." His voice was rising. "Look, I've 'ad a bad day. Could ya jus' cut me some slack?" He asked as he pushed my arms to my side and walked past me. I watched him for a moment, then followed him.
"I'd love ta cut you some slack, cept dere ain't a reason too!" I spat at him.
"Alrigh, alrigh." He puffed some smoke from his cigar and headed to the door. I returned to the counter and watched him leave. He didn't leave. He turned around at looked at me. "You're gonna need 'elp. Mind if I stay an' elp ya?" He asked.
I was taken aback. He wanted to stay here and help me? I knew I could use the help. I didn't know anything about cigars. He did.
"Ere's da plan. I ask da person what dey want, an' you get it fer em." I offered.
"Sounds alrigh." He walked back behind the counter with me, and playfully pushed me over to the side, laughing merrily. I stood back there for awhile. He basically took over, and I was getting paid for it. This day was working out for me.
"So, where ya from?" I asked.
"Manhattan." He replied. "The names Racetrack. You?" He asked.
"Er, Brandie." It was only then that I realized we hadn't exchanged names.
"Brandie? Dat a nickname or sometink? Do ya gots a nickname?" He looked back at me.
"Milkshake is me nickname." I answered. I didn't have to think about this for more than a second. I remembered what Spot had called me only the day before. Racetrack stopped talking as a group of men in their thirties walked in.
"Can I 'elp ya fellas?" Race asked in his heavy New York accent. The men told him what they wanted. He instantly picked out everything that had asked for. He turned to me and motioned for me to come help him. Help him with what though. My face must've expressed my question because he whispered in my ear,"Take dere money." He pushed me up to the counter as he told them how much they owed.
"Here ya go young lady." One of the men said, handing me his money. The taller man spoke next.
"This is a nice place you and your brother run together." He commented. Racetrack took this a step further.
"We takes pride in our 'ard woik." He said, wrapping his arm around my waist.
"Where'd you get the money to build such a fine place?" The third man asked us. It was my turn to answer.
"We inherited it from our parents." I said sweetly. Racetrack tried to muffle a laugh. All five men stared at him.
"Well, have a nice day." A brown-haired man told us.
"Same ta ya." I had to tell them , because Race was in the back room laughing to death.
Once they had left, I rushed to the back room and collapsed on the floor next to Racetrack. We laughed until we cried, and then laughed some more. The only thing that made us stop was the voice from the store.
"Excuse me, is anyone here?" A woman had entered the store. We tried to regain our composure. It was a difficult task indeed, but somehow we pulled it off.
"Yessiree madam." Racetrack said. "What'll it be?" He asked, taking a drag on his cigar. She look at him in a repulsive manner.
"I am just here to buy my husband something for his birthday. Would you recommend anything?" She asked looking from me to him. I dashed to the storage room and grabbed a box of random cigars. I laughed to myself as Racetrack hacked his brain trying to think of something to say.
"These are da best miss." I told her, throwing the box on the counter. Racetrack looked at me, his eyes laughed. I smiled as she looked at them.
"What kind are they?" She asked my smugly.
"Havana cigars of course." I told her proudly. Racetrack let out a laugh. I would've called it more of a cackle, but either one made the woman give him a horrible look.
"I suppose him'll like them. How much?" I told her the price, and handed them to her. She walked away huffily. I shot Race a glare.
"What was dat for? I asked.
"Those weren't Havana cigars." He laughed at me. I stared at him in disbelief.
"They looked like dat one!" I shouted, pointing at the cigar in his mouth.
"Yeah, but dey taste horrible. You jus' sold dat lady some shit of a cigar! Why do ya tink dey were in da back?" He laughed at me again.
"Alrigh' mister, tell me bout dem eight cigars!" I pointed at the first seven that I laid my eyes on. He studied them for a second and then answered.
"Double Claro is known ta 'ave a greenish tint on its wrapper. It's a light cigar that has had limited aging. Claro typically signifies dat the cigar will be mild. It has a light brown color. Colorado Claro has a wrapper dat is your standard brown color. Slightly stronger thean the Claro, but still considered mild. Maduro, Colorado, and Colorado Maduro have wrappers dat are dark brown an' give off an excellent aroma. Dey are considered medium ta strong cigars. The Oscuro has a black wrapper an' is strong in flavor. Bolivar cigar is not for the beginner; it's distinctively strong flavor an' robust nature draw mostly seasoned Havana aficionados. Dere are 3 kinds of smokers, occasional smoker, daytime smoker, and beginner." He concluded. I stared at him in awe.
"I know more dan ya tought don't I?" He asked me, smiling as he served another customer, who I do believe gave us both a tip when he heard Race ramble on about cigars.
"Ya know a lot I mus' say." I complimented him. He took a huge bow.
"Wow baby! Look at da time. I best be headin' home. I'll catch ya lata. An' remember, don't give nobody da beginner Sancho Panza. It has basically no flavor and tastss like shit!" He said referring to the cigars I had given that lady. "Nice woiking wit ya Milky. Here, 'ave dis." He tossed me his cigar, and pecked me on the cheek and headed out the door.
The moment I popped the cigar in my mouth, the Tabernaks walked in. The scene must've looked awkward to them, because Mrs. Tabernak looked horrified, and confused. It must have been the cigar in my mouth. I read both of their expressions before they could say anything.
"I bought it. I wouldn't steal from ya!" I told them. It wasn't all a lie. I wouldn't steal, and the cigar had been paid for. "I don't find it proper for girls to smoke." Mrs. Tabernak added her two cents. I rolled my eyes. I had tried cigars before. They weren't my favorite thing in the world, but I didn't hate them.
"Well here, go do whatever ya want with it." Mr. Tabernak handed me a crisp dollar bill. There was something I had rarely seen. I rushed out of the store, my cigar hanging from my mouth. I didn't even say thank you to the Tabernaks. I searched the town for Racetrack. He deserved some of the money too. Where did he say was from? I racked my brain for the answer. He hadn't left long ago, he had to be somewhere in the city.
After looking for some time, I finally saw him on the Brooklyn Bridge. He was halfway across, but I knew I could catch him. At least, I hoped I could.
"Racetrack!" I screamed. I was running so hard, the cigar fell out of my mouth. He didn't hear me the first time, I was too far away. I ran faster, and yelled again.
"Racetrack, I've got someting for ya!" It took several more tired and lots of energy before he heard me. He whirled around and looked for whoever was calling his name. I slowed my pace a little bit. He waited until I reached him. I almost collapsed on the spot, the stitch in my side hurt so bad, but somehow held myself up.
"Heah." I handed him the dollar. "Ya deserve it." He hesitantly took it, then handed it back.
"I was jus' doin' if fer kicks." He lied. I looked at him hard.
"Kicks or no kicks, take it." I pushed it into his hand. If it hadn't been for him, I would've made a fool out of myself, and probably wouldn't even have gotten the money. He smiled at me and took it.
"You're a good kid Milky." He smiled again, turned, and walked away.
I watched him go. I didn't expect to see him around here again. Who knew how far away Manhattan was from Brooklyn. I silently walked back across the bridge. It was much bigger when I actually had time to look at it. I didn't know what I would do for the rest of the day. I was debating whether to go to the docks, which was my original plan for the day, or go back to the Tabernaks. Before I knew where my feet were taking me, I heard a lot of splashing and goofing off. I looked up from the ground and saw that I had led myself to the docks. I cursed at myself. I didn't really want to be here when all the newsboys were. I took a seat on a nearby crate, and watched them all jump into the harbor and mess with each other. It was almost entertaining, until Harold came up to me.
"Look what we gots ourselves heah. Lil missy Milkshake is back!" He and his friends all laughed. How did they know my nickname. Only Spot and Racetrack knew that. I ignored his good looks, and looked right at his no good heart. I still had no idea why he picked on me. I just walked in Brooklyn almost a week ago, and I already had these boys on my back.
"Yeahs, what's your problem?" I asked him, staring at him hard.
"Ya 'ave no righ' ta be heah. Howeva, I would be 'appy ta let ya go fer a swim." He smiled a nasty smile. I knew what he was planning. Throwing me in the harbor wouldn't break me, unless he drowned me. Him and his friends walked closer to me, their hands were outstretched. I punched one of them in his stomach, but there was at least 4 more. Their dirty hands grasped my flesh as they hauled me off the crate. I held my breath and awaited the icy blast from the water; it never came.
"Get ya 'ands off da goil." I opened my eyes and looked past my brown hair. I saw Spot Conlon standing behind me.
"Dis is no way ta treat me guest." He said boldly. Instantly, as if my skin burned them, Harold and his friends let go of me.
"Dat's more like it." Spot said.
"Why'd ya wanna guest like dat?" Harold asked as he walked past. Spot didn't flinch, his gaze fixated on me.
"Is dis what ya do in ya spare time?" He asked, motioning with his head in Harold's direction.
"Ya know it." I replied sarcastically." He laughed.
"I would suggest ya choose a different 'obby." He looked at me seriously.
"Harold ain't no hobby o' mine." I tried not to get mad.
"Righ'. Well make yaself at 'ome." "He turned away, his cane clopping along next to him. I had no idea how much at home I would be with Harold breathing down my neck.
~A/N~ alright a few thank you's are in order here....First off, to my dear friend(penname)Vinnie Monfredo. She did the research on the cigar thing, you know when Racetrack starts running his mouth about all those different cigars! Yeah, well that couldn't have been done if Adrianne (Vinnie Monfredo) hadn't done all that research. I suggest you read her stories, they are really awesome! Anyway, I would appreciate all of your reviews and comments, thanks again. Next chappie will be up soon!
Oh, and also I made up the price of the the Havana cigar that Race purchases. I guessed because in the movie, Snipeshooter 'wants' a Havana cigar that cost a quater, so I assume that they cost more than 25 cents! How Racetrack came up with 40 cents, I will never know! Thanks again!