It was a Friday. Fridays meant poker. Poker meant gambling. Gambling meant drinking. Drinking meant getting drunk. The chance for getting drunk meant newsies.
Racetrack Higgins and Blink Caden, however, never had so much as a sip. They were the two who really played. Played to win. And to win you needed to have all of your wits about you, which meant being absolutely sober.
Mush Meyers was a different story. Mush liked to drink. A lot. Mush liked to get drunk.
But Mush was so very good at giving the appearance that he wasn't in the least bit drunk that everyone believed him to be just as sober as Blink or Race.
Just because you appear sober doesn't mean you are. It can mean that you're far from it.
And Mush was so kind and sweet and gentle and loving, so you couldn't help but trust him. Whatever he might do while drunk, it was okay . . . because it was Mush. Whatever he might slur into your ear sounded perfectly acceptable . . . because it was Mush. And whatever he told you to do sounded normal and something no one would ever dream of not doing . . . because it was Mush. And you always believed Mush.
"I didn't mean to do it!" Blink's head screamed as his footsteps pounded down the cobbled street as far away from Duane Street as they could carry him. "I didn't mean to kill Race."
Racetrack Higgins liked girls.
He liked tall ones, skinny ones, slim ones, heavy ones. He liked Italian ones and German ones and Irish ones and British ones and African American ones and Asian ones and ones from unpronounceable European countries. But most of all, Race liked the ones he couldn't have. The ones that were already taken.
He had once snatched Loophole Baker from Spot Conlon's finger tips and had nearly gotten killed for it. How was he supposed to know that if he stole Mush's girl he would be?
It hadn't been a pleasant thing (at least not for Gone) when Mush had rounded the corner of Bottle Alley only to find one of his best friends making out with his girlfriend.
Race, of course, had sensed Mush's presence first. He simply tipped his hat to Mush and pulled poor Gone down the street, who broke into sobs once she was out of earshot from Mush.
"Mush is a nice guy," Race had told her, "he'll get over it."
But he didn't.
"I'm gonna kill him," Mush had muttered to himself. But he wouldn't kill him himself, that would be too suspicious. No, he would persuade someone else to do it.
"Royal flush, it looks like," Blink said, laying his cards flat on the table in the corner of the bunkroom. Race swore but pushed the pile towards Blink anyway.
"Again?" Race asked, shuffling the cards.
"Nah," Blink said, shaking his head. He glanced to his right, where Skittery was dancing, hoping from one foot to the next as if he had to pee quite badly, staring at the poker table. "Looks like Skitts wants to play though." Race nodded and Skittery shot into Blink's recently vacated seat.
Blink strolled over to Mush, who was leaning against the nearest bunk, a bottle clutched tightly in his right hand. He was glaring at Race.
"Hey," Blink said softly.
Mush grunted.
"I'm sorry about Gone."
Mush grunted.
There was silence, and then, "You ever tried out a slingshot Blink?" Blink was taken aback.
"No."
"Wanna try?" Mush asked, holding up a slingshot that looked suspiciously like Spot's and a single blue marble. Blink took them hesitantly.
"Put the marble here." Mush demonstrated. "Pull back and aim. When you're ready, just let go."
"Okay." Blink paused. "Where should I aim at?"
"Just above Race's head, just to scare him," Mush answered coolly.
"Okay."
Blink pulled back on the slingshot and aimed at the spot just above Race's head and let go.
The marble whizzed like a navy blur just as Race turned his head and stood.
It collided with his head.
It didn't bounce off his head. It shot through Race's skull and shot out the other side.
Race dropped like a fly, twitching, yet undeniably dead.
The bloody marble rolled to a stop at Mush's feet. He bent and picked it up.
"You done good, Blink."
Blink didn't hear it.
He was staring at Race's body in horror.
Race was dead.
Blink had just killed Race.
Race was dead.
And Blink had killed him.
That made Blink . . . a murderer.
The moment this thought lodged itself into Blink's mind, he turned and fled.
He sprinted across the bunkroom, jumped down the stairs and wrenched open the door, running as fast as he possibly could through the chilly October air.
Mush looked up from Race's body. A grin spread over his face as the other newsies watched the scene in horror.
"Blink killed Race. Go and get him."
And because Mush was Mush, they all did as he said because it made sense . . . and it was Mush.
"Go and get him."
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.
Author's Note: Guys, one shot. Don't beg me for more because I know you have imaginations and can come up with and ending on your own. Be creative.
And don't forget to review and tell me what you think.
Well? Review already!