That night Jack was waiting for Race on the lodging house steps, smoking and looking worried.
"The bakery havin' a sale or somethin'?" He asked as the younger newsie stopped greet him.
Race shrugged, and sat down. "Not that," he paused to light up a cigarette, "I've been informed of, why?"
"You been getting' strong hankerin's for little chocolate cakes lately?"
Race narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, just love 'em. Buy 'em with all this extra money I got." He shook his empty pockets to prove his point.
Jack sighed, and pulled the brim of his hat down. "You'se just been spendin' a lot of time over at the bakery, Race."
"No I hasn't. And so what if I was?" Race began setting up a game of solitaire with the deck of cards he carried perpetually in his pocket.
"So you know that Skittery's got his eyes on the girl that works there – he's gettin' kinda suspicious."
Race looked up at jack, a fleeting defensive expression crossed his pale face, before his smooth poker mask fell into place. "C'mon, Jackie. Anyways, Skittery gets it for a new girl ever few weeks."
"Just," Jack tipped his hat back, "Be careful with Skittery," he warned, and made his way up the steps.
"She's Sicilian, Jack," Race said suddenly, as if that explained everything.
Jack stopped, and watched Racetrack take a forlorn drag on his cigarette. "She gave me coffee."
Jack nodded, and ducked inside, leaving Race to his cigarettes and solitaire.
Sheepshead had been muddy and bitterly cold, but Race walked back with the pleasant jingle of a few won bets in his pocket. Shops were closing with the waning light, and clouds rolled menacingly over the September sky.
Race sucked on his cigar, the hot smoke lending him a little warmth. He scanned the square for a moment, leaning against the brick wall. He was exhausted, hungry and his shoes were covered in cold mud from wading around the bay in the rain. The bakery still had one light on, and he could dimly see the shadowy movements of a pointy-nosed girl.
With a brief smile, stunted by the icy air he jogged over, rubbing his arms against the cold. "Gianna," He called, and knocked on the window.
She started, almost dropping her broom, and then registered recognition and opened the door. "Hi."
Race leaned against the doorframe, and smirked crookedly. At night he couldn't see her skin stretched tight over her cheekbones, and her dark eyes dominated her face.
"I saved some old bread for you all. Some of those boys look so hungry." She handed him a squashy brown bag.
"One of the guys I know is kinda stuck on you," He blurted out suddenly, taking off his hat.
"Yeah?" She asked, "Who?"
Race looked sideways, lukewarm guilt bubbling in his stomach. "Tall, crazy hair. I just wanted to warn ya."
She smiled, and stared at her hands, her black hair shifting off her shoulders, "Why you worried?"
Race shrugged, and tugged his hat back on. "Just watchin' out for you."
"I'm almost done," Gianna said, looking up with a small smile on her face, "you should go."
"As you wish signorina, buona notte." He bowed a little.
"Ciao, bambino," Gianna beamed despite her bedraggled appearance, and closed the door with a soft clack.
Race turned around, wearing the ghost of a smile and suddenly not feeling so cold.