Chapta Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.
A/N: Now it starts getting good.
'Brrrrrrrr,'thought Race, as he stepped outside. The cold night air chilled him to the bone. 'I shoulda put on a jacket.'

He trotted down the street, his footsteps bouncing off the houses and shops around him. Winter was almost here, and no one stayed out late anymore. The wind smelled of pine and smoke, and he knew someone had madea fire.

As he came nearer to Brooklyn, he was aware of a huffing noise, like someone was out of breath. Since, as said before, any noises were echoed, it was hard to tell where it was coming from. He spun around. No one.

Continuing his walking, he heard it again, a little more distinctly this time, and he heard the faint tatter of footsteps slapping the pavement. He stopped. A figure was in the distance, and it seemed to be running. The oh-too-familiar whistle of the Bulls started up, and he realized someone was being chased down.

But he had a lodge to get to. Wanting to avoid the oncoming crime scene, he began to turn south, a detour, when his leg began to sting. And, perhaps, by some freak coincidence, he stopped to check the wound. And that was it.

It only took ten seconds. He winced, stopped walking, bent over, rolled up his pant leg, muttered, "Jesus Christ...", rubbed the scab, and rolled his pant leg up, and stood straight. All in ten seconds. And, in two seconds, he glanced up to see, guess who, Spot, running for his life.

Spot stopped in front of him, trying to catch his breath, but the shrill whistle of the Bulls getting louder told them both there was no time for rest. Race didn't need to ask to know his friend was in danger.

Spot did a double take when he saw him, as if Race was something from heaven.

And perhaps he was, because the events that followed were Race's doing and changed Spot's life forever.

The first thing Race thought was that he had to hide his comrade, but that wouldn't be too smart unless they threw off the Bulls first. Spot grabbed Race by the sleeve and yanked him after him. The Bulls, armed with the advantage of horses, were nearing. The boys tore into the town, and then Race thought, 'I can take him to Andria's house.'

But no, Ali was sick, and her house was right there. Anyone would see them go in, and he had a feeling her parents wouldn't be too happy with strange boys staying in their home for days.

And then, a tiny voice in his head spoke up and asked, 'What about Natalie's house?'

Natalie's house. He knew it was somewhere around the corner, and they'd probably throw off the Bulls by getting there, but him and Natalie weren't half as close as he and Ali were.

But it's Spot who's gonna stay there, not you.

So, without anymore hesitation, said, "Spot, my friend down here has a gangdatda Bulls don know about. You could lay low wit them."

Spot looked at him, and thought as he ran. Of course if he disappeared, the police would check all of the neighboring gangs and there'd be interrogations and all that good stuff. He nodded.

Surprisingly, the whistles were dying down. They pulled around a corner and found themselves on a quiet dead end. There were five houses.

With only minutes to spare, the Race began knocking.

"Hi, is Natalie there?"

The woman shook her head. So he ran around asking numerous houses.

"Natalie there?"

"Do you know a girl named Natalie?"

"Is there anyone named Natalie on this street?"

At this, they recieved an answer. A kind old man pointed to a house across the dead ens, and they ran to the door and knocked. A girl answered.

"Racetrack?' she asked warily, obviously tired. She was holding a candle. She gave him and Spot a funny look, but the whistle cut her out of it. Realizing they needed to hide, she let them in, shut the door quietly, and turned off the lights in the window.

She put down her candle and stared at her guests, who were trying to huff silently. Hands on her hips, she asked, "What do you think you're doing here!"

"What does it look like?" asked Spot, "Running." He grunted when Race elbowed him in the ribs.

But the household fell quiet as the whistling grew louder and louder, and a new fear dawned on the boys - What if the neighbors told the Bulls that they had gone in here?

Natalie made a sweeping hand motion, shooing them up the staircase. It was extremely narrow, and by sitting at the top you took up the whole thing. Race did exactly this. The hostess then positioned herself so that she lay on the couch with her candle next to her and a book in her hand. There was no evidence that anyone was here... except the fact that there was.

The dreaded knocking came a few minutes later, and with her candle and book, Natalie opened the door. A bulky police office, with a square chin and small eyes, tipped his hat.

"Good evening ma'am," he said politely.

Natalie smiled. "Good evening, officer. Is anything wrong?" To anyone listening, she was innocent, but her tone was completely fake to Race.

"Do you mind if I come in?" the officer asked. Natalie nodded.

While Race carefully peered down the stairs, Spot had shaken himself out and already began to adjust. He looked at his setting - he was in a wide, roomy attic, with sweet-smelling herbs dangling from the rafters. The floor was thickly lined with hay, and around the corners lay the family's stashes of food - corn, pumpkins, barley, wheat, beans - whatever could be planted and harvested. Taking a step towards a nice looking apple, not having eaten since dinner, Spot stepped on a creaky board, and froze.

Meanwhile, Natalie and the officer, who had been making small talk, both heard the creak and the rustle of hay and stopped. The officer, who was suspicious that the boys were indeed hiding in here, stood up, but Natalie sat him back down.

"Don't worry," she said, with a trueness in her voice, "That's only the cat. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you," said the officer, "But could you answer some questions for me?"

Race, who sat at the top of the stairs listening, turned his head and gave Spot a number of rude hand gestures and dirty looks. But Spot was more entertained by the glowing eyes he spotted in the corner. He picked up a piece of hay and threw it at them, and as if on cue, a cat ran out hissing and flew down the stairs. Race, who had his back turned, felt a hairy mass on his shoulders for a few seconds, before seeing a cat flying over his head, and boy, did he jump.

Amazingly, he landed without a sound.

But the officer, who had been about to go up the stairs, saw a grey cat shooting down, and he stopped. She hadn't been lying.

Natalie smiled and picked up the cat, who was spazing out. "You were saying?"

"I-I... I hope you don't mind, b-but I'd like to question you..."

"Well, go ahead."

The officer gulped. This house put him at unease. "We had a sixteen year old boy attack an eighteen year old boy, and now the eighteen year old is seriously injured. After escaping from the police, the delinquent was joined by a partner who was waiting for him around Stone Court, and now they are in this area. Several other residents said two boys, both short and Italian, visited their house asking for Natalie O'Rourke."

He forced a smile. "We have reason to suspect the boys are in this area, or possibly this household, you being the Natalie O'Rourke we are looking for."

Natalie paused. These boys had gotten themselves into some deep poo.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "Yes, they did visit me about twenty minutes ago, but if you think they'd stick around, you're pretty wrong, and wasting a lot of time."

"What?"

"Those boys are my friends, and good people at heart, but criminals. Look outside. You see that picket fence? It's to the left," she said, pointing out the dark window. "They owed me a bit of money, so they came in, gave me the change, and left."

"What does that have to do with a picket fence?"

"They jumped it, then ran through the creek as you were coming. Up until now, I didn't know they were in trouble - I'm used to them stopping by and going when they please."

"Do you have the money they gave you?"

Race and Spot both froze.

Luckily, Natalie nodded, and they prayed she wasn't lying. "Yes, hold on, it's on the kitchen table. Let me get it." She left the room, and the officer stood, smelling the sweet herbs and vanilla sugar.

Natalie returned with three quarters - and no one had any idea where she got that much.

"I hate to poke around," said the Bull, "But why and for what did they owe you?"

Natalie smiled. "I made a few bets with them at the track;" she smiled to herself, "And they lost."

The room fell silent, until the cat let out a yawn. The officer nodded. "And one more," he said.

"Go ahead."

"Do you know where they went?"

Natalie nodded. "Harlem."

"Harlem?"

"That's right."

"Why there?"

"They have a gang who's allies with them. They'll be staying there until this settles down."

"If they're you're friends, why are you telling me this?"

Natalie stared at him, before answering, "Because Lord knows you probably won't be able to catch them now, now that we've wasted so much time instead of searching. And that was three more questions, not one."

Another pause, and the officer opened the door ands tipped his hat. "Thank you for your time, milady."

"My pleasure."

The door slammed closed, and no one said anything until they heard the horses' hooves go clattering away. Race and Spot came down the steps, and Natalie sighed, plopping herself down on her sofa and rubbing her head.

"Ya didn't tell me da poison who was hidin' me was a goil," Spot muttered.

Natalie did not look up. "You two owe me big time."

"Well," stuck up Racetrack, "Who's gonna 'spect someone like dis ta be hidin' us? She got brains."

"Both of you can't stay here," Natalie said, rubbing her temples like she had a headache, and she probably did.

"Why not?"

"Because I have a family that uses the attic a lotand if they go up and find two boys up there, what'll they think?"

"What'll dey think if dey find one boy up dere?"

"Well, one boy I can explain, and they'd probably be allowed to stay. But two is trouble."

Race knew what they were getting at, but he had no problem. "Ya know, Nattie," he said, getting angry glances from her, "If I can stay here faw tonight and maybe tomorra, I can stay at Andri's house. But I just need some shelta now."

Natalie nodded. "Sure," she said, 'And don't call me that."

"Wha, Nattie?"

"Yeah."

"Why not?"

"Just don't, or you're out."

Spot said nothing. His reputation was dead and gone, as far as he knew. Hiding from the police with a girl. He'd rather turn himself in. But Race had done all this work and Natalie had given up her time to try and save his ass, and whether or not he liked it, he was staying here.

Besides, if he turned himself in, he could say goodbye to life as the King of Brooklyn forever. And this 'shacking up' thing would only be for a week or two.

So he would do it.

Newsie Vocab!

Poison - person. It they were talking about poison, as in the stuff that kills people, it'd sound more like 'poisin.'