It had begun as whispered rumors circling the street corners, hushed conversations between selling partners that he had returned. It had started as idle gossip and nobody paid much attention. It wasn't him, they told each other, he was dead. But the whispers had grown less hushed and the voices had multiplied. Overnight, rumors turned fact and an uneasiness crept through the alleyways.
On the street his name was spoken in low tones, the respect and fear attributed to him made his existence more legend than fact. Although there were plenty still around that could attest to his ordinary beginnings, the stories were more important. They told of one who had come as near as anyone had to closing his hand around the city. One that had territory in Brooklyn, Queens, Midtown and even the Bronx.
He came into his power quickly and went largely unchallenged, though many spoke of his often brutal tactics and the deals he had with the police and the papers. They wanted someone to keep the masses of unorganized street kids in line, he wanted money and control. He made life on the streets more tolerable for those that would follow him, but for those that wouldn't, there was no safety.
They said no one could hold on to what he had. So they waited. They held their breath, watching for the day when he would stumble.
A brawl erupted one night, most say it was over the rights to a selling spot. He wanted it, they weren't giving it. Resistance wasn't something he encountered often.
It wasn't him, they said with a nervous laugh, no one could have survived that night. That night down in Brooklyn when the streets turned red. That night when thirty-seven died over less than a square block. The night that turned into weeks of unpredictable violence as others tried to take over. But no one could hold on for long and divisions were made, splitting the city into rival territories that hadn't changed much since.
His rise and fall was just another in a history the city would forget about as the years passed. But his memory was still present in those that were old enough to remember.
It couldn't be him, they said, just some kid claiming his name.
Box Greene was dead, they reassured themselves, he wasn't coming back.
The morning passed with little note. Business hadn't picked up any, but Race had adjusted by buying less over the past few days, so his stack was a decent way gone by mid-day.
An older gentleman stopped to buy a paper around noon. He bought it on his way downtown everyday like clockwork, one of the few people that could appreciate the news with or without headlines. This marked the end of the morning for Race and it was when he usually decided to take a few minutes off.
Holding the last of his cigarette in his mouth, he hoisted his stack of papers up to his shoulder and attempted to thread himself through the crowded street. He figured it wouldn't hurt to grab a cup of coffee for lunch, he could spare a cent.
Remembering that Blink's spot was nearby, he took an impulsive detour in that direction. Maybe he would swing by and see if Blink wanted to come along. At least they would get a chance to talk, or at least Race would get a chance to talk to him. Whether or not he felt like talking back would be another issue. Last night, Race had forgotten about his concerns and, by the time he remembered, it was too late to get into it.
He turned the next corner and crossed the street, taking a shortcut down an alley. Emerging onto the street again, he took a quick look around but Blink was nowhere in sight.
Figures, he sighed, tucking his papers under his arm again. Taking one last look, he set off down the street. It seemed like everyone and their brother had decided to take a walk that day. The street was so congested he had a hard time finding a straight line to walk in. He ducked into the next alleyway he could get to, preferring to take the longer back route if it meant he could breath.
He walked along at a good pace, the buildings on either side of him offering a temporary relief from the sun. He hadn't gone far when he heard raised voices drifting easily through the empty alley. The crash of a wooden crate splintering against the ground followed.
Prolly a fight or somethin', he mused to himself, not inclined to investigate further. He had learned quick that it was in his best interest not to get mixed up in anything he didn't start.
As he continued to walk, the voices grew louder and it was clear his path would cross theirs at some point. His pace slackened as he approached the next turn a bit more cautiously; he didn't really want to get involved if he could help it. Coming to a stop at the corner, he took a quick look around the edge.
There were three boys talking, though it seemed even with tempers flared, a fight wouldn't be imminent. The way they were standing pretty much took up the entire alley and there was no way he getting around unnoticed. Just his luck, now he would have to go completely out of his way to get around. They just had to pick this of all alleys to have their little talk in.
He stepped back from the corner and moved to go back the way he had come. Hopefully, he would still have time to grab some coffee and relax, but, after his many detours, he wasn't sure.
As he turned to go, one of the boys moved enough so that he got a passing look at him. He looked familiar, though it took him a minute to place him in his memory. It was that kid from the other week, the one that had business with Blink. He thought it was odd to see him again so soon. In a city that big, you could go for weeks without seeing people that lived the next street over.
He turned his attention to the other two. One had his back turned and the other was still not completely visible. He watched for a bit longer, slightly more curious. The one with his back turned took a step toward the other kid, offering a clear view of the third.
It was Blink.
Race moved back to the corner, forgetting about the coffee.
That kid was probably back to collect, this time with a friend. How stupid were they to try and get their money twice in two days? Amateurs. The only good that would do was get you a black eye and few enemies. And they looked like a couple of newsies themselves, they should have known how bad it'd been.
One pointed a threatening finger at Blink and Race was about to step out and lend him a hand in showing them the way out of Manhattan, when he saw Blink put up his hands defensively and back away.
What the hell? Race furrowed his brow as he stopped himself from stepping into view. He had never seen Blink give in or back down from a potential fight. He had started a few for less than a pointed finger and sure as hell wouldn't let two bums like them get away with it.
"I told yous what you wanted to know, now beat it," he heard Blink's voice filter past him.
"Are you sure that's what you want us to tell Greene?"
Race's stomach tightened. There was no way he heard what he thought he heard.
"Yeah, I'm sure," he heard Blink respond.
Why would Blink be talking to a heel like Box Greene? He knew what kind of trouble that would bring.
All at once, a sickening realization came over Race. His hand almost dropped the stack of papers, forgetting he was holding them. There could be only one reason why Blink was talking with Greene, why he would even think about risking it.
Race looked up as Box's boys left, departing down the opposite alley, in no apparent hurry. The fact they seemed so comfortable in his territory did little to calm the anger that was rising inside of him.
As soon as they were far enough away for his liking, Race moved out into the alley and walked toward Blink slowly, allowing his footsteps to announce his presence. He watched Blink with disbelieving eyes, his fists tightening. Although he had not convinced himself that what he saw actually happened, there was a darkness in his expression that he could feel. His fingers dug into the stack of papers he was carrying, ripping into the top copy.
Blink looked over to the sound of Race approaching, a momentary fear crossing his face as their eyes met. But it wasn't the typical fear that came from being outnumbered twenty to one; it was the distinct fear of getting caught in the middle of something you shouldn't have been.
"Hey Race," he managed with a much casualness as he could, almost convincingly so.
Smooth, Kid. Real smooth.
Race didn't answer as he came to a stop a few feet away. Moving to the side of the alley to pick up his stack of papers, Blink gave him a quick smile that didn't quite make it up to his eyes. As he lifted the papers, he glanced down the alley to see if the other two were still in sight.
"Don't worry, they're gone," Race answered his silent question.
Blink stiffened visibly, but continued to arrange the stack under his arm. "N' whose that exactly?" he asked, not looking up.
He glanced to Race after a long pause, the last traces of his smile fading. Race hadn't moved, his expression still locked in the same severe stare. Blink turned his attention back down to his papers and finished ordering them before he closed the few steps between them.
He looked at Race carefully, as if searching for a trace of understanding.
"You shouldn't have seen that," he said finally.
"Tell me what I was suppose to see." Race narrowed his eyes as he answered. He could hear the disbelief and anger he had tried so hard to hide seeping into his voice.
"It ain't how it looks," Blink offered simply, knowing that wouldn't be good enough, but hoping Race would take it.
"Tell me what it's suppose to look like," Race countered, his voice more controlled. Tell me and I'll believe you. God, Blink give me anythin' and I'll believe it.
Blink didn't answer, the silence between them telling Race more than any half-truths.
"What, no answer?" Race prompted him after an uncharacteristically long silence. He always had an answer.
"What do you wanna hear, huh?" Blink returned, his temper starting to flare.
"Start with what the hell you was doin' with those two," Race's voice picked up Blink's irritation.
"I can't-"
"You can talk to them, but you can't talk to me? Is that how it is?"
"Look, you don't got no idea how it is. You ain't even got a clue!" Blink erupted.
"So lay it on me!" Race countered, matching his intensity. But his words held more of a desperate need for understanding than anger.
Blink hesitated, as if considering it. But the moment was fleeting and his face returned to that hard expression. The one that Race had only seldom seen and hated because it was so unlike him. Blink dismissed the possibility with a shake of his head before moving to step past Race.
He wasn't getting off that easily. Race stepped to the side to block him, his shoulder shoving into Blink's chest as they collided.
"Don't make it like that, Race," Blink warned, forced back slightly.
"You're makin' what it is," Race said, not moving.
"Get outta my way, Race," Blink threatened.
Race stood his ground. Their eyes locked. It was like he was talking to a stranger.
"I said get outta my way," he repeated, any hint of familiarity gone, "Are ya deaf or just stupid?"
They both knew the next step wouldn't involve words. If one of them didn't back down it would be well within their rights to start a fight. But they weren't just two strangers arguing over a selling spot. A fight between them would mean more than a black eye, it would mean years of friendship. Race wasn't stupid, he knew no matter how angry he was now, he wouldn't let it get out of control. He just hoped Blink wouldn't let his temper get in the way, but he couldn't be sure. After what he'd just seen, he wasn't sure what Blink would do.
After a moment Race turned slightly to the side, just enough to show he was backing down.
Blink pushed past him, not looking back. But Race thought he saw the quickest flicker of relief on Blink's face.
Race closed his eyes for a moment, his mind quiet except for the sound of Blink's footsteps slowly receding. His heart was racing; he could hear it pounding in his chest. But other than that he was numb. He didn't feel the ground beneath him or the air around him, everything had fallen away. . .everything except the confusion. His world had changed and he didn't know why. None of it made sense. Blink would never betray them
They had known each other for years, as long as Race had been living in Manhattan. He had never questioned where Blink was coming from. Never once had he doubted where his loyalties lay. Nothing could break them, that's what they always said. When others were down, Blink was the first to remind them how good they had it. And if it came down to it, he was the first to defend against anyone who would threaten what they had. Sure, he wasn't always right and he didn't always make the best decisions, but that's what made him just like everyone else. Living so long in one place meant that you knew and trusted those around you. He had trusted Blink.
Nothing could break them. He had always believed that. Race scoffed under his breath at the thought, how could he have believed that? One of the people he had cared about most was nothing more than a fake, a backstabbing scab.
He shifted his papers to his other arm and forced his feet to start walking. The shouts of the newsies on nearby streets had reminded him that he had papers to sell.
He couldn't tell the others. . . they wouldn't understand, not that he understood. He needed to think it over, figure out what was going on, or that's what he told himself at least. He knew how serious this was and he knew the minute anyone else knew about it would be the beginning of the end for Blink. He couldn't do that, he couldn't turn his back on him, even though Blink hadn't given it a second thought. A small part of him still trusted Blink. God help him for that.
Nothing could break them, that's what they said anyway.