Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes.

High Stakes

An unofficial follow-up to Last Night.

The night Mush Meyers first met Tooth Donnelly was the first night Mush saw Racetrack Higgins before he smelt him.

(Looking back on it later, he realized that that was the first sign that something was wrong.)

There was no acrid smoke covering the short newsie from a stolen cigar already half-spent by the time Race got his stubby fingers on it, no dirt-grey cloud hovering just over his head, no stink from Sheepshead Races clinging to an old plaid vest that was due for a wash. In fact, the air was almost pleasant for a muggy August evening, and not even Race's agitated entrance broke up the peace.

Even if it did catch Mush's wandering attention. And, due to a nudge to his side courtesy of Mush's pointed elbow, Kid Blink's attention next.

Mush and Blink were on guard duty that night and, truth be told, both of them were looking for an excuse to do anything except stare aimlessly down two sides of an empty street, making idle small-talk and wishing they were anywhere else: at Irving Hall to take in a show, or maybe down at Tibby's for a swig of sarsaparilla. But they weren't and, for at least a couple hours or more, it was their turn to stand at the back entrance to No. 9 Duane Street and make sure nobody got inside the Newsboys Lodging House that didn't belong there.

It had been a couple of weeks since the summer strike ended but the newsies weren't taking any chances. They were the closest lodging house to Newspaper Row and none of them could forget the way that chain-wielding gang came at them when they first stopped selling their papers. There hadn't been hide nor hair of the rotten Delanceys or their stinking Uncle Weas since July and, if the newsies had anything to say about it, they would keep it that way. But just in case, the older boys thought it would be smart to watch out for any of Pulitzer's hired men, bent on revenge against the working kids of New York. Because, pointed out Cowboy, getting revenge would've been the first thing half of them thought of if the shoe was on the other foot.

Jack Kelly and his good ideas, Blink had moaned one night on guard duty when they had the poor misfortune to be out during a late summer shower. Mush, too kindhearted to understand anything even close to resembling sarcasm, readily agreed with Blink about Jack, even if he spent that particular turn at guarding wishing there was an overhang for them to hide out underneath.

But that particular night was clear, even if the humidity did funny things to Mush's dark curls, and neither boy had any complaint save for that guard duty for what seemed like the millionth time now was probably the most boring thing they could be doing. The elbow in his side provided some distraction and for that, Blink didn't even bother hitting his best pal back in warning for the cheap, unexpected jab. Besides, Mush didn't know his own strength after all and it only took Blink a couple of seconds to get his breath back.

When he had, he followed the direction Mush was staring in. And, just like Mush, Kid Blink saw Racetrack Higgins walking hurriedly towards them, his hands jammed in his pockets, an unlit cigar sticking out of the corner of Race's closed mouth.

(Racetrack Higgins with an unlit cigar and a mouth that wasn't moving? That was the second sign that something was wrong.)

"Hey, Race?" Kid Blink called. "Racetrack, buddy, what's the matter?"

It was clear that something was the matter. While Race moved faster than you would expect for a guy with such short legs, there was something in his awkward strut that made Mush think Race was almost dragging his heels. Then there was the way he gave a start at Blink's loud holler. Despite Mush and Blink noticing him, it seemed as if Race had no idea that anyone was hanging around the back of the lodging house. How could he have forgotten? Race complained about guard duty even more than Skittery did!

He recovered nicely though, making a bee-line straight towards the other two boys as if he'd been aiming for them all along. When he reached them he removed the unlit cigar from his mouth and, despite the fact that it wasn't lit and had produced no ash, gave it an anxious flick as he demanded, "Where's Cowboy? Where's Jack?"

Mush and Blink looked at each other and agreed, without saying a single word, that Race must be off his head or something, asking such a silly question as that. Still, they took pity on their poor friend.

Or, at least, Mush did.

"He's gone to the same place he goes every night," he said helpfully as Race shook his head slowly, coming to the same conclusion just as Mush went on to add: "He went to Davey's place for supper."

"And to hold hands with Sarah under the table," Blink added with a chuckle. Even with only one good eye—his left one covered as always by a brown patch—Blink managed a sly look that, if Race hadn't been acting so antsy, would've surely earned him a wise-cracking grin in return.

But it didn't, and Kid Blink found himself repeating after an awkward pause, "Here, Race, c'mon. What's the matter? Me and Mush, we can help ya just as much as Cowboy could."

"Yeah," agreed Mush.

Race stuck his unlit cigar between his lips. He still hadn't noticed it was unlit, and it looked more like a piece of jerky than a smoke. "Alright, then," he mumbled around the cigar, shoving his hands back in his pockets, "either one of ya fellas willin' to spot me lodgin' fare?"

And suddenly Blink was thinking Race waiting for Jack to come around was a better idea than he first thought. He waved his hand and shook his head. "What happened to your money, Race?" he asked, none too obviously changing the subject.

Squinting his good eye, Blink looked Race over, taking in his long face, the way the cigar seemed to mold itself into the corner of Race's frown, the way his hat was jammed down on his head so that his hair was hidden and almost his ears, too. Race's shoulders were slumped, his fingers restlessly tapping against his dusty old trousers, and Blink had a pretty good idea what had happened.

"Let me guess: your horse come in last? You make a bad wager or somethin'?"

"You could say that," Race muttered, chewing on the stub of his cigar now. "I got suckered into a poker game I should've won."

And that, right there, was more than enough of an answer to any of Blink's questions. Mush nodded to himself, too. If nothing else, it certainly explained Race's poor temper.

Because, you see, Race liked to think of himself as a gambler, but where was the gamble if he never won? Any horse he picked for first threw a shoe or came up lame or if they even made it out of the starting gate, limped to the finish line, dead last. His poker face was terrible because he wanted it too damn much. If he threw dice, they always came up one number shy, without fail. Hell, if he tossed a coin and called it, there was a better chance it would land on its edge over falling onto the side Race called for.

He liked to think of himself as a gambler, but his fellow newsies and pals secretly just though he was an inherent loser. Except for Mush. Mush Meyers had a brighter outlook, figuring that Race had to win sometime.

Just, it seemed, not that night.

"Who'd you play?" Mush asked, curious. With him and Blink guarding and Jack out at the Jacobs, he couldn't figure who Race could've played—and lost to—that badly.

Race's eyes dropped to the dirt as he made his admission: "Tooth Donnelly."

Kid Blink groaned, a sympathetic noise that told Racetrack just how dumb of an idea that was, playing poker with a fella like Tooth.

But Mush had never heard of Tooth Donnelly and he asked both innocently now and to the others' surprise: "Who's he?"

"Who's he? Don't ya know nothin', Mush?" Race shook his head, and if it wasn't for how crummy he felt, there would've been a playful slap to Mush's cheek for such a question.

(And that, perhaps, was the third sign that something wasn't right.)

"I don't know who Tooth Donnelly is," shrugged Mush apologetically.

It was Blink's turn to take pity on his pal. Mush always looked like a puppy that'd been kicked one too many times whenever anyone reminded him that there were things he didn't know and Blink usually took it upon himself to turn that frown upside down again if he could.

"He's the best poker player in New York," Blink said simply, as if that was all anyone needed to know about Tooth Donelly. "You can beat him, you can beat anyone." He then turned to look back at Race. "See, now, I heard of Tooth. What else did you lose, Race?"

Racetrack mumbled out a reply that neither Blink nor Mush could barely hear.

"What's that?"

Race's answer was like himself at the moment: short and testy. "I said my comb, alright!"

"He took your money and your comb?" Mush asked, frowning; Blink, on the other hand, was trying to stifle a sudden attack of the chuckles. "That doesn't seem fair."

Race refused to look over at Blink until he got his amusement under control. Only then, when all that remained was Blink's lopsided grin, did he explain: "Tooth Donnelly doesn't play fair. He plays for everything you want and he always wins, damn it! I just wish I knew how." Racetrack looked more dejected that either of the other two boys had ever seen him. They thought it was because he lost his money—because he lost at all, which meant he wasn't half the gambler he imagined himself to be—until Race went on to add, "And it was my lucky comb, too."

Kid Blink clapped Race on his shoulder, trying hard to suppress his laughter again and failing miserably this time. "I guess it wasn't so lucky, was it?"

Nowhere near amused, Race shook Blink's hand off his shoulder before pulling his hands out of his pockets—and with his right one, an old, dented brass pocket watch. He flipped the lid open and lifted it up so that he could use the flickering light of the gas lamp to read the time.

Scowling, he put the watch away. "Shouldn't Jack be back by now?"

In response to Race's comment, Mush reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. His lips moved as he counted it silently, then he plucked a single tarnished nickel from amid the pile of coppers and held it out to Race. "Here. Take it. I'll cover your fare tonight."

Race accepted the nickel eagerly and slipped it into his pocket. But, to Mush's surprise—if maybe not Blink's, who knew Race well enough by now—he didn't make to go inside the lodging house to pay Kloppman for the night or even say thanks or nothing. Instead, pulling out his pocket watch again and glancing at it before stowing it in the same pocket housing Mush's nickel, Race turned to look behind him as if he expected Jack to saunter up any minute now.

There was no sign of Jack heading their way, though, no sign of anyone really and Racetrack Higgins sighed in barely masked frustration.

"It's not just the fare, though I 'ppreciate it, Mush." Race sure appreciated it because, not only did he make no move to go in for the night, but he wasn't about to hand the nickel back, either. Instead, as he continued doggedly to watch out for Jack, he said, "It's my comb. I really got to get it back. There's a race tomorrow, I got two on Hanover and—" Here Race finally realized his cigar was unlit but, rather than go searching for a match, he threw the cigar down and started to pace back and forth, facing the other two boys now "—I gotta have my lucky comb."

Mush was still trying to see the bright side. His brow furrowed for the moment as he thought it over, relaxing as a pleased grin split his lips. He'd found a solution. "Well, then, why don't you take that nickel I gave ya and see if he'll play you another game. I know your comb's gotta be worth more than five cents, but maybe this Tooth fella doesn't."

Race's eyes lit up before they went dark again, like a candle being snuffed out. His shoulders sagged—he looked shorter than ever. "I wish I could, but he won't play me again, so that's why I thought Jack… you know how charmin' he can be. I thought he'd play for me and win my comb back." He checked behind him again and huffed; there was still no sign of Jack. "I guess he's too busy makin' eyes at Davey's sister to be willin' to help a pal out."

"I'll play for you," offered Mush immediately.

Racetrack's head turned back around, meeting Blink's knowing gaze. The two of them exchanged a look.

The thing was this: poker was a newsboy's game. When the papers were sold—or sold back, thanks to the success of the strike—when the night opened up on endless possibilities, most of the boys could be found sitting around a pot of pennies and, one remarkable time, a brass button. It was a way for them to unwind, a friendly round of poker where individual hands meant nothing to the overall rhythm of the game.

And in the broad scheme of the game, Mush Meyers was quite possibly one of the worst players Duane Street had ever seen. For one thing, he couldn't lie. For another, he didn't understand it when the other boys lied, even when Blink explained more than once it was called bluffing. He was hurt when he lost, so the other boys would go out of their way to lose instead. In the end, they decided it would be best for the rest of them if Mush was allowed to watch but never, ever play.

After a moment, one moment when Mush was blissfully unaware of the silent conversation passing between his two friends, Kid Blink cleared his throat and laid a kind and easy hand lightly on Mush's arm. "Maybe I should be the one to give it a try."

(Now that Mush wasn't all that surprised to hear.)

"I can still come, though, can't I?"

Neither Blink nor Race—who was already brightening considerably now that Blink was willing to take the chance for him—neither one of them had the heart to tell him it would be better for all of them if he stayed behind. Then again, neither one of them knew.

End Note: This, as noted up top, will be an unofficial follow-up to Last Night, by which I mean this takes place after the strike and after Mush met Polly - which also means that Polly will be an important part of this story :) It's not necessary to have read that one-shot to understand this chaptered fic, but there will be a few mentions to it that will make this story a little more interesting, I guess. Also, I re-did the first chapter a bit and split it into two chapters - I wasn't entirely happy having the first two bits combined and I fixed it. I hope there's no confusion, but I think it flows better (and I did add a little bit more to this chapter that the first release missed!)

This fic will be maybe 5-7 chapters long and will introduce a few OC's that I've had a ball dreaming up. I haven't written a multi-chapter Mush-centric fic in ages and I thought it was his turn, especially since neither he nor Blink had a role in Five; Race, on the other hand, got such the short end of the stick in Five, I decided to use him in this story. Of course, as you can already see, he doesn't really fare that much better, eh :)

Please let me know what you think so far! Next chapter to follow soon.

- stress. 01.24.11