May 16, 1903
Racetrack sat at the bottom of the back office stairs of the Hudson, smoking a cigar and fiddling with his pocket watch. At a quarter past four, Racetrack wondered if he should start arriving a quarter of an hour late to all his appointments with Skittery. It was rare the moody man was ever on time getting out of his cramp little theater office. He knocked a fist at one of the rails impatiently.
"Hold your horses!" Skittery shouted from above. Racetrack rolled his eyes as a small yellow feather floated down on his knee. Feathers were inescapable these days, Racetrack couldn't even be quite sure where they all came from but even Irving Hall had them tucked and stuffed in nooks and crannies. He supposed in theaters it was easy enough to excuse, so many of the dancing acts had fluttering and flittering costumes it was to be expected. But he could never be quite sure they didn't serve another purpose.
A knock on the back door startled the man out of his revelry. It was early, and the evening doorman hadn't arrived.
"Get that door!" Skittery demanded from above.
"Sure thing, Boss!" Racetrack crankily threw up the stairs. He rocked up to standing and reached for the door. He leaned forward to peak through the peep hole, spotting the singer Ernest Ball, one of the prime acts at the Hudson. Racetrack pulled open the door for the man.
"Evening Mr. Higgins, sir." Ball bobbed his head, removing his hat.
"It's still dinner hour Ball?" Racetrack retorted back amused.
"I had a tune I had to try to get down with the piano, if you'll excuse me." Ball jogged further into the theater leaving the open door behind him. Show people, Racetrack had learned were funny creatures that could never shake the business of the show. The strumming of piano keys began almost instantly and Racetrack flicked the building ash of his cigar out into the alley.
Race recognized the sound of running just barely before stepping out of the way as a boy came tumbling into the building. Tripping over the door ledge the boy curled into himself to roll right over Racetrack's left shoe and crashed into the bottom step. The boy flattens himself out on the floor, blinking confusedly with the yellow feather stuck to his cheek.
"My mother always said leaving doors open invites trouble." The boy cracked.
"Think you're trouble do you?" Race flicked a bit more ash out the open door before pushing it shut. A pretty tune came from the stage, as the office door clanked opened and Skittery swung down the stairs.
"So what is it?" Skittery kicked playful at the boy on the ground. "Heya Race."
"Heya Race, he says, not sorry for having you sit here like a dud in a race." Race grumbled while the boy on the ground grudgingly pulled himself up.
"There's been an explosion, down around 366 West 31st Street. Some chap name G. Russo…" The boy explained.
"Got your own set now?" Race asked curiously glancing at the boy he understood now was one of Critter's birds.
"Critter likes to be informed." Skittery shrugged. "And he can't always be counted on to be here, exactly. So you said an explosion?" Skittery prompted the bird again.
"… Yeah, well Laces, she says Russo made the bomb himself." Skittery whipped his arm out and had it hooked around the bird's neck at the name. He pulled the boy forward, none too gently.
"Where is she? She ain't the one near the bombing" Skittery demanded with a small shake.
"I don't…know. I wouldn't…She ain't usually…" The bird stumbled over his words.
"I see Laces is still being her delightful self." Race sighed. Skittery shot him a furious glare before shaking the bird once more.
"She send you?" He demanded.
"No, sir."
"He's a sir, now is he?" Critter stepped in from the stage area, as the piano quieted down. The man was covered in dirt and sweat, with his suspenders around his knees and shirt sleeves rolled up, a hammer was looped into his belt loops. The Hudson had been doing some repairs and it suddenly occurred to Racetrack it might be Critter doing the tasks himself. Taller than everyone else in the room and with an air of command that never quite left him, Critter drew all the attention to himself.
"No, sir?" The bird quirked nervously confused over which man seemed more dangerous. Skittery dropped the bird and spun to glare at Critter.
"If she's near that bombing…" Skittery threatened his fists clenching.
"It's supper time, she couldn't be down there," Critter began practically.
"Miss Audrey was shopping at Saks, Macy's and Gimbel Brothers all afternoon." The bird hurriedly explained. "With Miss Elizabeth Samson and Miss Emma Canterbury."
"Was she? And how did she come about any news of the bombing?" Skittery snapped.
"Miss Emma Canterbury is in the city?" Critter frowned.
"Arrived yesterday afternoon with her mother, yes, sir. Mr. Canterbury is even scheduled to be in the city by tomorrow." The bird nodded eagerly at Critter, seeing an opportunity to make his meaning understood without more ire. "Miss Audrey overheard one of the stock boys whispering to one of the elevator boys."
"More and more these reports are coming from her." Skittery huffed at Critter.
"I have noticed." Critter murmured, patting down his pockets absently.
Racetrack itched for a second cigar as a way to satisfy his building hunger but instead clicked his pocket watch open.
"It's half past." Critter supplied as he found a nickel in his pants and flicked it up towards the bird. "Make sure no one gets near this bomb nonsense."
The bird nodded and gave a wide berth to the still fuming Skittery before ducking out the door. Critter scratched at the back of his head as he stretched his back enough to crack.
"From what I've been hearing, she's been real careful." Racetrack offered as his stomach gave a loud grumble. Skittery angrily pulled his coat from a nearby peg.
"A bird always knows where she is." Critter nodded. "And she's nearly always in the presence of high society these days, a greater restriction on her freedom then newsboys ever could be."
"Let's get supper," Skittery sighed grouchily.
"Give me a minute to splash some water on my face and change my shirt and we can go down to Childs." Critter climbed the steps to the office three at a time. Skittery brightened immediately.
"Why would we go all the way to Childs?" Racetrack almost wailed.
"We'll take a street car down and send a bird over to Medda's to let her know you'll be late." Skittery smiled brightly.
"This has got something to do with Laces?" Racetrack sighed. Skittery shrugged unapologetically.
"We won't talk to her or nothing, but if she was shopping with the girls they will likely be having a light supper at Childs. It would be a novel thing for Emma." Critter explained trotting back down the stairs, fresh faced and in a crisp new shirt. At least, O'Connell moved at a pace of urgency.
"She gave me a great tip on a horse last week, so I'll give in to you both being fretting nannies." Racetrack shrugged as Skittery pulled opened the back door.
"Where'd she catch you with that tip?" Critter asked jovially enough to let the gambler know he didn't know the answer.
"By the tracks, she was there with some young set from the upper west side." Racetrack laughed. "Can't really track your pretty little bird anymore?"
Critter snorted before shouting out into the theater for the doorman. Skittery had hurried ahead to catch their ride to Childs.