Author's notes:
Yay- good reviews! I was very happy. Anyways, just to clear something up- this is not a Medda/Race story. Hello? She's old enough to be his mother. There is one romance in this, and one only- and I can tell you right now, Racetrack is not in that romance. Yet, doesn't it seem odd that if you do the character-sorting thing it comes up as Race? Well, cool down! There's a reason… you'll see it soon…
So… I personally think that the prologue sucked… but it was the beginning I needed to set the REAL story off. Considering that most of the story takes place fifteen years later, the story isn't (and once again I'm repeating) a Race is hurt so Medda takes care of him and they fall in love type thing. That is CHEESY!
In fact, Medda pretty much was a one-chapter character. Which is probably weird seeing as most of the last chapter was from her POV.
So, enough ranting… here's the chapter!
Chapter One: Getaways"So, Cowboy, it's been about a month."
"Your point is?"
"So, is he gonna die or not?"
"Where have you been for the past month?"
"Brooklyn."
"Smartass. I already told you- Race is gonna be fine! We determined that a long time ago!"
Racetrack could hear a conversation from far away…
His eyes were still closed; it was sort of hard to tell who was speaking. The first voice was probably Spot's... Cowboy? The other person was Jack!
Race was having trouble thinking; the pain was clouding up his head. What was the last thing he remembered? They were in Tibby's… something happened, they were doing something and he lost… Poker! They were playing poker!
Suddenly every memory of the strike, of the rally, of that night in Tibby's came back to him. Just one word triggered an explosion of memories… and an explosion of pain.
He slowly opened his eyes. He was in that back bedroom at the lodging house again. He felt worse then he did when he woke up the first time- his body ached. Two chairs were in front of the door, where two people were sitting and having a conversation.
"Well, Jacky-boy, it looks like someone's finally awake," Spot said.
Jack turned around.
"Well, hiya, Race! Look who finally decided to come into the present?"
Racetrack gave a weak laugh. It was amazing how much energy it took for that small little laugh.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"A month," Spot answered.
"A month? An' what has happened in that month?" he asked.
Jack and Spot exchanged glances.
"Well, it's your news- you better be the one ta tell it," Jack said.
Spot took a deep breath and was about to speak when Race spoke for him.
"Where was she from? Manhattan? The Bronx? Brooklyn? I'm betting Brooklyn," he guessed.
"Brooklyn."
Jack burst out laughing. "He's only been conscious for about a minute and he's already gamblin'."
"How the heck did you know that? You been out for an entire month!" Spot exclaimed.
"Lucky guess," Race said. "So is it a boy or a girl?"
"A boy," Conlon answered. He told the story of how about two weeks before, Spot woke up to a knock at the door in the middle of the night. A woman carrying a basket with a bundle in it told him that his ex-girlfriend died in childbirth while giving birth to a child that could only be his. She handed a dumbstruck Spot the basket and walked away.
Spot named him the next day- Samuel, Sam until he got a better nickname when he got older.
"Samuel Conlon," Race repeated.
"Yup. By the way, Race I was wonderin' if-"
"CONLON, YOUR KID JUST CRAPPED ON ME!" Skittery yelled from the bunkroom.
Spot rolled his eyes.
"Dat's the last time I let Skitts watch Sam for me…Now if you two don't mind, I got some business to take care of." He slammed the door shut. "SKITTS, YOU WIMP! IT AIN'T LIKE YOU NEVER CRAPPED YOURSELF!"
Jack and Racetrack were in hysterics, Race wincing.
"Spittin' image of his daddy," Jack said when they were done laughing.
"He is, is he? Well, his mouth must be the size of a watermelon, then," Race replied with a smirk.
Jack really missed hearing Racetrack joke around- he started laughing again.
Race started laughing too, but that turned into a coughing fit. Jack's grin slipped off his face.
"You okay there?" he asked his friend seriously.
"Yeah. Thanks for askin' though."
"I's worried about you- we all were. How comes you didn't tell me that you'se hurt?" Jack inquired.
Race shrugged. "I don't know. So," he said, changing the subject fast, "what else happened while I was out?"
"That's about it. Mostly we was just worryin' 'bout you." Jack could see that Race was irritated that the subject got back to him. "Seriously, Race, you gave us a scare. You just sort of passed out that night at Tibby's, we didn't know nuttin' until you woke up just now. Kloppman said you almost didn't make it before. You was hurt bad, he said, Race. I still don't get why you didn't tell me."
The Italian shrugged again.
"C'mon. I know why, I'm just waitin' for you to say it."
"Why do you care?" Race looked away from his eyes.
"'Cause I really don't like it when one of my best friends doesn't tell me that he's hurt."
"Fine then. Tell me why."
"Because you were afraid that if you told me, I'd think you were a wimp. Well let me tell you somethin', Mister Higgins- you ain't a wimp. You made it through that strike, an' God knows what else. You almost died- twice. You're the loyalist of loyal friends. I know that you don't like feelin' weak, but still, you're hurt an' you shouldn't keep it a secret. So believe it or not, Race, you ain't a wimp. Skitts is a wimp." Race snickered at that last comment.
"Thanks, Cowboy," he said. He didn't really believe what Jack said; he was a good actor, though, and would pretend that he did. "So why'd I pass out?"
"Kloppman said that you just pushed yourself too far. You just tired yourself out, I guess."
Race nodded.
"Well, um, I guess the other guys will want ta know that you're awake, if Conlon hasn't told them yet," Jack said. He started to get up.
Racetrack tried to sit up, but found that he was too weak. And his side felt like it was on fire.
Jack walked over to him and gently helped his friend sit up. He noticed that Race winced every few seconds. He told Race that he'd be right back.
He sighed as he closed the door. He didn't like seeing Race that weak.
"Listen up. That means you, Blink."
Blink reluctantly looked up. He'd won several games of cards since the night when Race collapsed, and was getting better. He was interested in seeing how he did against Race when he woke up.
"What's up?" Mush said.
"Didn't you tell them yet?" Jack asked Spot, who was busy throwing the dirty cloth diaper at whoever was closest to him. Little Sam was sleeping in his basket, diaper freshly changed.
Spot shook his head. "Just Davey."
David was attempting to try to learn how to play poker with Blink. He smiled.
"Tell us what?" Pie Eater asked.
Jack grinned. "Racetrack just woke up a few minutes ago."
The bunkroom cheered, just like they did the last time.
"Can we see him? Can we, can we?" Les asked.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa… calm down there, little guy," David answered, silencing his brother.
"Just a few of you at a time. He doesn't like to admit it, but he's very weak," Jack said whispering just in case Race could hear him. "So no rough stuff around him. Agreed?"
"Yeah."
"Sure."
"Whatever."
"Agreed."
Random newsies said other things, too.
"I mean it, guys!" Jack exclaimed. "We don't want a repeat of last time."
---
"You won?" Blink was in awe. "I've been practicing for a month an' I still lose to you."
Mush, Skittery, and Blink were playing poker with Racetrack on his bed.
"So, Conlon's a father? Who would've guessed?" Race said.
"I know," Mush said, "the odd thing is, he's actually doing a decent job."
"Yeah," Blink added, "he'll get someone from Brooklyn to take care of the kid every once in awhile, but mostly he's a good little daddy. Ha!"
"I heard that!" Spot entered through the doorway, carrying his son.
This was the first time Race had seen Sam, thanks to his position at that moment. He realized instantly that Jack was right when he said that Sam looked like his father.
"Beat it, you guys- I want to talk to Race alone for a bit." It was an order, not a suggestion.
The three non-bedridden Manhattan newsies left the room, leaving Racetrack and the Brooklyn leader all alone. Spot pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed.
"Can I hold him?" Race asked. Spot gently put Sam into his arms.
The little boy grabbed Race's finger and squeezed it. He drew back his finger in pain.
"Ow… he's a strong boy, he is…just like his daddy…" Race was getting tired.
And so was Sam. He was already almost asleep.
"So," Race said with a yawn, "are you going to get him baptized?"
Spot had thought about this; he thought about it very hard. He was never baptized, although he did go to church occasionally. He knew that Racetrack was Catholic, and hardly ever missed a Sunday going to church. Except while he was unconscious, of course.
"Yes. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," he replied.
"Hmm?" Race was fading fast.
"Yeah, well, you see, I was wondering if you would be his godfather."
Race woke up a bit at this point. "Me? But… why?"
"Because you're Catholic, you understand this stuff, an' because you'se a friend."
Did Spot Conlon just call him his friend? Apparently.
"But…" Race was confused. "Why not someone from Brooklyn?"
"Because I said so." Spot punched Race in the shoulder, not caring that he was already hurt. Racetrack gave a small yelp of pain. Spot could be brutal sometimes.
"Alright then, I guess…" Race was falling asleep again.
"Thanks. It's getting late, I gotta get Sam back to Brooklyn."
"Hey Spot?"
"Yeah?"
"You better be a good example for this kid…"
"Why?"
"'Cause…" he didn't finish- he was already asleep.
Spot shook his head. "'Night, Race."
---
Racetrack was hoping that he didn't have to stay in bed for more then a few days, but he knew that Jack would be very protective of him.
"C'mon Jack! I'se fine!" he argued.
"Nope. You are not sellin' for at least a few weeks," Jack replied.
"But Kloppman-"
"-already said that you don't have to pay until you're sellin' again."
Race frowned. "Fine. On a few conditions."
"What?"
"That you guys come in to play poker all the time, an' that I can come to Tibby's wit' you guys sometimes if I'm up to it."
"Okay…" Jack seriously doubted that he would come to Tibby's with them very soon- he couldn't walk without help yet.
"Cowboy, hurry up! You need to go and sell!" Kloppman was shouting from the top of the stairs.
"Gotta go. " He started towards the stairs, but he turned around so he could wave to Race. Race was frowning. "Race… I'm sorry."
He walked down the stairs and left.
---
Race really hated being alone all day. After the first few days, he fell into a routine. Usually, he'd play solitaire for a few hours, but he tired of that fast. Then he'd fall asleep for a while, until Kloppman brought in his lunch. Some of the guys would come in then; the fast sellers and the newer newsies that couldn't sell as much. He usually would talk to someone or play cards until Jack or one of his closer friends came back. As promised, they would play poker until Race won all of their money or Kloppman yelled at him to leave. Every night, Spot would bring Sam over so that Race could see his soon-to-be-godson.
Finally, after two weeks, Racetrack could walk unaided. He was thrilled to be able to go down to Tibby's with the other guys, and at this point moved back into the regular bunkroom.
"C'mon, Jacky-boy, let me sell!" he would say at least once a day. But every day for another week, he told a disappointed Racetrack that he couldn't sell.
Jack thought about it for a while. Finally, he said yes. "Just take someone with you."
"Fine," he said with a bit of bitterness. He usually wasn't particularly fond of selling with someone else; he preferred to go solo.
He sold with Skittery, and made him go down to the races everyday with him.
"Race, if you make me go down there one more time I swear…"
"Is that a threat?" Race asked.
"Yes."
Race rolled his eyes. "I'll take you down any time, anywhere."
Skittery laughed, knowing that Race couldn't take anyone at the moment. "Sure you will, Race… sure you will."
"Wimp." He punched Skitts in the shoulder.
They laughed.
"Well," his selling partner said, "we better go back to the lodging house… Kloppy'll be closing the doors soon."
"You go ahead… I got somethin' I gotta do first," Race replied.
After Skittery had left, Race turned and started to walk to Brooklyn.
He knocked on the door at the Brooklyn Lodging House.
"Is Spot Conlon here?" he asked the newsie that answered the door.
"Yeah, hold on a sec." The newsie turned and hollered up the stairs, "CONLON! SOMEONE'S HERE TO SEE YOU!"
"Hey, Race… whatcha doin' in Brooklyn?" Spot asked as he ran down the stairs.
"Came to see you an' Sam. Where is the little guy?"
"Sleepin'. Wanna see?"
Race followed him up the stairs and into Spot's room. A small cradle was set up in the corner, and the tiny child was sleeping in it.
"When's the baptism?" Race whispered, careful not to wake up Sam.
"Saturday sound good ta you guys in Manhattan?"
"Yeah."
"Alrighty then…" Spot said.
Racetrack and Spot talked for a while longer, and Race made comments that Spot was going soft every few minutes. Finally, he waved goodbye and started back to Manhattan, knowing someone would have to open a window for him to get in.
He whistled on his way back to the lodging house, glad not to be imprisoned there anymore.
When he was going through Midtown, he heard someone scream from the other side of the street. Race sprinted over, letting his curiosity take over.
Facedown on the ground in front of him was a young Italian woman that could scarcely be older than fifteen. She was lying dead in a pool of her own blood, a knife still in her back.
Author's notes: Alright- I lied… a lot of this was "Race is hurt". Well, that's about it for that. The real plot starts now. Oh, and just a quick reminder: one of my friends read this before I posted it, and she said that it sounded like Race was going to fall in love with the girl he found stabbed. Hence, the word dead. So, just so you know, this isn't a newsie-finds-a-girl-that-has-been-soaked-and-falls-in-love-with-her-story.
Thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers!
Gamble7: Ahh… he is hot, isn't he? Thanks for being my very first reviewer!
The Third Fate: Updating! Oh- and I like to put suspense into my stories. Expect lots of cliffhangers.
Cakes: Hi! Awesome review…yeah, he did look bad at the rally. I hate how they didn't explain what happened to them all. Anyways, thanks!
ShadyJones: Thanks for the tip on the flashbacks. I did that because last time I did that, a few people didn't understand that it was a flashback. By the way, see the note above about how it isn't Race/Medda. Anyways, thanks for the tips and review!
DutchysAngel--Tails: Thanks for the awesome review!
Please review!