Racetrack Higgins was sprawled across the old couch in the lodging house, fast asleep, his mouth open and his snores echoing through the empty room. Worn out from his hectic week selling papes, which had, incidentally, included an angry policeman, a snooty scab and an evil dog that had tried to take a large chomp out of a very sensitive area, he had fallen asleep waiting for Light to get home.

The clock chimed eleven just as Spot burst into the room.

"Race! Race, wake up!" He shook the other newsie roughly.

"Wha'? Whassamattah?" Race spluttered groggily.

Spot ran his fingers through his hair distractedly, causing it to become even more tousled than usual. (Female readers, please stop drooling, you'll ruin your computer) Despite his lethargy, Race could see that the usually cool and collected Brooklynite was a nervous wreck.

"What's da mattah?" he asked again, this time with a hint of apprehension.

"I dunno where she is! She was wid me in Central Park one minute, and den poof! She's gone! What are we gonna do?"

"Spot, relax. She's fine," said Race, shaking his head to clear it.

"Youse seen her? She's alright?" Spot sagged with relief. "When did youse see her? Where's she now?"

"Last I saw her was arount four thoity on da cornah of Fifth Street. I dunno where she is now."

Spot looked at him shrewdly. "She cain'ta been on Fifth Street at four thoity, because at four thoity, she was wid me, tellin' me some dumb story 'bout you puttin' soap in Mush's taters, and dere is no way she coulda been in two places at once!" Half-hysterical, he ran his fingers through his hair again.

Race shrugged. "It shoie looked like Priscilla ta me. But I was –"

"RACE!" Spot exploded, causing Race to fall off the couch in surprise. "Ise am not talkin' 'bout Priscilla! It's ovah between us anyways! Ise talkin' 'bout Lightning!"

"What?" Race gasped from the floor. "Light's gone? You lost her?"

"Yes, I lost her!" Spot moaned, sinking onto the couch and running his hands through his hair again. "Or maybe she lost herself! Or maybe someone else losted her!"

"'Losted'?" Race asked.

"No, not losted, I meant stolen – kidnapped – oh no! Dis is all my fault!" Spot buried his face in his hands.

Race was shaken. Never before had he seen the King of Brooklyn lose it like this, especially over another human being, and especially over a girl he supposedly hated.

"Okay," he said finally. "Where didja last see her? She probably jus' wandered off an' got lost or sumpthin'."

Spot raised his head and gave Race an exasperated look.

"Er – or not."

"Light's not dat stupid. She knows Manhattan like da back o' her hand."

"Maybe she went ta Brooklyn."

"Why would she do dat? Anyways, Ise looked dere. I looked everywhere! It's no use! She's gone forever!" Spot wailed despairingly, clutching his hair.

"But, why would anyone wanta kidnap Light?" Race puzzled. "I mean, if she has really been kidnapped."

"Because she's a goil, because she's da leadah o' Manhattan, because she's a good pape sellah, because she's a pretty goil, because she's my friend and ally –"

Spot stopped and looked at Race, a horrified expression on his face.

"Oh no," he breathed. "What if…"

"Queens," Race finished, with an uncomfortable twinge of realization.

"Light…" Spot moaned, collapsing again.

My head hurt.

A lot.

It was dark.

Musty.

Scratchy.

Quiet.

Head hurt.

Where am I?

My eyes flew open. I was lying on a hard mattress in the corner of a small dark room. And there, right in front of me, was the crooked, leering smirk of the one and only Scarface Claw, the nefarious leader of Queens, known for his brutality with the switchblade.

"'ello, prettyface," he croaked, his raspy voice filling my ears and sending a chill down my spine.

I sat up slowly, trying not to let my fear show too much. I had never personally met Scarface Claw, but I had heard all the horrible stories from Jack and the other newsies. Abandoned as a small child, he ran wild on the streets of Queens, stealing food and fighting his way along. The streets had corrupted him, turning him into a monster, a twisted, sick, perverted monster who preyed on small children and young women. He had been caught four times for his crimes, but had always managed to escape at the last minute. Newsies everywhere feared him, sometimes to the point of insanity. It was hard to remain calm when I was the most scared I had ever been in my entire life. I would have gladly crossed the Brooklyn Bridge alone in the dead of night than have been in this situation.

"Wha's da mattah, prettyface?" he asked. "Are ya scairt o' da big bad Scarface Claw?"

Like I was going to admit that to him. Instead I opted for a cold glare which would have sent any other newsie running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He, however, just laughed softly.

"I thought so. But you shouldn't be so worried, babyface. We ain't gonna use your pretty little hide foah nuttin' but bait." Still laughing softly, he left the room, and to my dismay, I heard the lock click behind him. Cursing him colourfully under my breath, I looked around. Besides the mattress, there was no other furniture in the room. What little light there was came from a small barred window high on the wall across from the door. I pushed the mattress over and climbed up to have a look. I could just barely reach it, and all I could see was a high brick wall. A wave of despair flooded through me. I sank onto the mattress, hoping against hope that someone had noticed my absence, and that help would come before it was too late.

I know it sounds strange, but the name "Scarface Claw" comes from a kid's book called Slinky Malinky Cat Flaps by, according to my mom, Lynley Dodd. I thought it was the coolest name for a villain, and it freaked my sister out, so I'd like to use it but I give full credit for it to Lynley Dodd. Keep reading and reviewing!

-zumanity57