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.

After Mush ran inside and grabbed Skittery and Snitch to take over watching the back entrance to the lodging house, it was time to go. Race was itching to win his comb back, even if Kid Blink had to be the one to do it. If Tooth Donnelly wouldn't let him play, it didn't matter to Racetrack so long as his lucky comb was in his pocket and Tooth's cocky smirk was buttoned shut.

(Mush would've tried again to insist he could play too, but persuading Skittery to guard out of turn took longer than he thought it would. By the time he came back, Blink and Race set their plan and the only pace in it for Mush was as company—and the added muscle.)

It seemed like the perfect idea, too. Blink had a poker face to die for because, as Race put it in only the way he could, no one ever knew what it was Blink kept hidden behind his eyes because they were too busy gawping at his patch. That, and Blink grinned that crooked, lopsided grin of his so damn often, it didn't matter if he had a flush or a queen high, Blink looked goofy no matter what. You could never tell and most boys didn't. Blink won more back alley games than all the others.

But, you see, Kid Blink, as easy going as any of his fellow newsies, he took his poker very seriously. There was no sign of his familiar grin as Race—being Race—kept egging him on and it took Blink threatening to forget about it and go back to guarding for it to sink into Race's thick head that maybe, if he wanted his comb back as much as he said, he should stop running his mouth like that.

Race made the smart choice: he shut up.

(The quiet didn't last very long.)

As he led the way, in considerably higher spirits than earlier since there was a slight chance he might get his comb back, Race started up again and—rather than pick on Blink—he spent the walk telling his pals all he knew about Tooth Donnelly. The first thing being how Tooth never stayed in the same place for too long, the second how he never played more than one fella at a time, the third was that he never, ever lost. Tooth was a legend in the gambler's circuit, and his legend spread far enough that even Kid Blink knew all about the sort of game Tooth played.

Mush wondered why he didn't know, but figured it had to do with the fact he never seemed allowed to play cards with the other guys anymore. Besides, you learned something new every day. One day it's that Jack likes to sleep on his back and make funny jokes in the morning; another it's that, at quick glance, there's not much difference between a copper penny and a brass button. And now he knew that a kid called Tooth was a real card shark.

He still didn't understand why Race bet his lucky comb of all things—or why, considering Mush knew the comb and knew that it was old, cracked and missing teeth—and, waiting until Race finally stopped talking, he asked about it.

(It probably wasn't the best thing to ask about.)

Race's cheeks puffed out until he resembled not a short Irish gambler but an oversized chipmunk, like the ones you get over at Central Park in the spring; when he breathed out, it sounded like a squeak which didn't help Mush with the picture of a rodent he had in his head. "I didn't want to bet my comb but Tooth… he's got a… a—"

"Knack," supplied Blink.

"A knack… thanks, Blink… Tooth's got a real knack at knowing just what a fella prizes most in the world and the game ain't over 'til he has it. You can lose all your dough but that don't mean nothin' to Tooth. Y'know," Race added bitterly, "it ain't even about the money to him. Bum took my comb because then it wouldn't be mine no more."

And that's all he said. Mush didn't realize until much later that for all the talking he did about Tooth Donnelly and his game, Race never once explained how he got in on it in the first place. Mush knew better than to ask this time.

That ended the conversation. Blink was already focusing on the upcoming poker game, Race was stewing over the loss of his lucky comb and Mush was just beginning to catch on to the fact that since he'd gotten out of guard duty for the rest of the night, there might be some time to pop on over to see Polly.

It had been two days since he'd seen her last and it was only his promise that he wouldn't come back until Friday morning that kept him from visiting her. The nasty cough she tried so hard to hide had flared up a bit; she'd been laid up since Tuesday night and, when she sent him away, she got his word that he wouldn't come back for a few days unless she sent one of her boys to see him first. It wouldn't have been too much harder to wait since he and Blink had guard duty Thursday night but without the long night ahead of him… well, it wouldn't hurt to check up on her a little earlier than she expected.

(Unless Simon was in for the night—then it might just hurt a little. Simon had a wild fist and Mush wouldn't dare strike against Polly's brother in return.)

At first Mush didn't know what put the idea of Polly in his head. He'd spent Wednesday morning worrying so much over her that Blink threatened to sew his lips shut if he mentioned her again. As such, Mush got into the habit of "forgetting" about Polly when Blink was around and she wasn't. And that's when he noticed that Race was leading them right up to a small corner shop with boarded-up windows and a makeshift door like the one that covered the entrance to Polly and the other orphans' hideaway. In fact, Mush had to look twice to make sure he hadn't gone the way to visit Polly first, it was so similar.

(It wasn't, of course… still, it was spooky.)

The shop was one that was once called O'Malley's and it was familiar, too, in a way Mush couldn't quite remember. There was a hand-carved, hand-painted sign hanging overhead; it was faded and old and once chain had rusted and broken so that it was tilted to one side. Wood covered the windows, a thick piece of rotted wood served as a door and it was that door that Race marched up to it.

"Here," Race told the other two boys quietly, "let me do the talkin'." Then, rapping his knuckles against the makeshift door, he called out, "I'm willin' to pay."

"Don't you mean play?" whispered Mush.

"I wish," Race muttered out of the side of his mouth.

There was a pause and, for the moment, Mush wondered if Race had gotten the wrong place or if no one was in. Then, just when it seemed that the game might've been moved already, a very steady, very calm, very plain voice answered:

"Come in and bring nothing that you can't afford."

Mush turned and met Blink's eye. Blink shrugged, his easy grin at home on his face. Race was already moving aside the rotted piece of wood, cursing under his breath and sucking on his thumb when he got a splinter. Mush hurried to help him, lifting the door without any trouble, revealed a dark hole that led inside.

Racetrack went in first, accustomed to the strange set-up. Blink shrugged again and, despite having known about Tooth Donnelly before that night, he didn't seem to have been expected this. Mush certainly hadn't and, again, he was reminded of the first time he followed Polly into the rooms where she stayed. Whatever happened to good old, sturdy lodging houses?

Trying to be polite, Mush made sure to replace the door after he slipped inside. It seemed the right thing to do, even if the darkness seemed to become pitch.

(The darkness didn't last, either.)

As soon as the makeshift door was in place again and the three Manhattan newsies had grouped together, there was a spark, then another and two small flames erupted from nowhere. It was such a sudden flare-up that such a small bubble of fire stunned them and blinded them and it took a moment for Mush to realize that a pair of struck matches were held in opposite hands.

Four long, thin candles were fastened to the wall and a dark-haired figure with his back to the others busied himself with lighting the old yellow, drippy wax strips. With two quick flicks, the matches were shaken out and he reached for the tallest of the candles. Then, turning around, Mush Meyers got his first look at this master poker player.

He crossed on arm in front of a thin chest, the other held the candle up beneath his chin. His dark green eyes sparkling in the candlelight—or sparkling with something like amusement.

Tooth Donnelly was Irish from his name to the light-colored freckles that dusted his fair nose to the greasy black hair he wore slicked back like the sort of cheap dandy he thought he was. It was hot in this small room and it was obvious from his dress: the shirt he wore had straps thinner than the dusty green suspenders he kept slung over his shoulders.

When he grinned, and Tooth Donnelly grinned often like the world was his own personal joke, it was easy to see where he got his nickname from. There, right up front, he was missing one of his teeth. Not a front one, but one of the canines; only a dark hole remained where the pointy fang should've been.

Tooth reached down and placed his candle in a small wooden stand chipped and hewn and covered in wax droppings that was set up in the center of a round table surrounded with only two chairs. Then he crossed both arms over his chest and looked over at Race knowingly.

"Ah, Higgins, back so soon?"

Mush thought he might've lisped or something, given the fact he was missing his tooth, but if he did, it was hard to tell. Tooth had such a thick Irish brogue, a slight lisp or a hiss was swallowed up and hidden in the Old World accent. It took all Mush had just to understand what the other boy had said and, deep down, he wondered if it wasn't as genuine as Tooth pretended.

(Because it certainly wasn't the voice that called for them to enter.)

Race, meanwhile, didn't seem to have any trouble understanding what the other boy said. He answered Tooth, and when he answered, his own New York accent seemed almost exaggerated in comparison—and Mush knew for sure that that accent was surely real.

"I've brought some pals with me, Tooth," Race said, gesturing to his right, then his left, though his eyes never strayed from Tooth. "This here is Kid Blink and this is Mush. It's Blink whose gonna play you this time."

Kid Blink took a jolly step forward, obviously aiming to take the seat opposite of the one Tooth had been sitting in, but he froze after one step. Mush felt his brow furrow, confused and uncertain, until a shadow in the dark corner seemed to move once, twice, flickering in the backdrop of the farthest candle's flame before slipping out of the darkness and appearing as a young man and not the phantom Mush had suddenly feared.

He wasn't dark like the shadows; in fact, he was just the opposite. His skin was pale, almost translucent it was so white, and his hair was a vivid shock of orange cut uneven and short. The rest of him was unremarkable—a dark grey shirt, darker trousers, and cracked boots that kept him hidden in the dark corner—except for one thing: he wore an old, dirty rag over his left eye. It was tied like a bandana, wrapped under one ear and over the other, a makeshift patch.

His good eye, sly and shifty as it was, lit up when he saw the fancy brown patch Blink was wearing. One crooked finger played with the edge of his dirty rag. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Joe…" Tooth cut in warningly. The other boy heaved a sigh but stopped what he was doing; Tooth ignored the sigh, waving one hand absently at his side. His glittering green eyes never left his guests. "This is my pal Joey Gin."

"Or you could call me Gin Bottle Joey on account of how my eye got like this—" And once again Joey started to raise his hand. He managed to lift the bottommost part of his eye-covering, revealing a criss-cross of jagged lines, once-bloody lines, purple scars.

"Joey!"

His hand fell, to the relief of the other boys. Even Blink, who was the only one who knew what it looked like under his own patch, felt a little queasy at the sight Joey Gin kept hidden under the dirty rag.

"Pay him no mind," Tooth said smoothly. "For all that matters to you, he isn't even here."

(And Mush wondered who else wasn't there like Joey Gin, since Joey Gin's voice wasn't the voice he heard, either.)

There was a hypnotizing lilt to his voice despite the thick accent and, at a word, Joey Gin was forgotten; their every attention was on Tooth Donnelly and the slick and flicking movement of his wrists. Maybe it was sleight of hand, maybe they hadn't been paying proper attention, maybe it was magic—because everything about Tooth was theatrical and magical—but suddenly there was a deck of cards nestled in Tooth's palm as if they'd been there all along.

The cards were loose, yet they seemed molded to fit every crevice of his hand. In turn, he handled them expertly, flipping them from one side to the next, flopping the cards and tossing them and never, ever dropping a single one. Tooth was still watching the Manhattan newsies with that same strange look in his eyes, but he didn't need to watch the cards to make them do what he wanted. The battered, old deck obeyed him like they were a pup and Tooth Donnelly the master.

"So you want to play me, do you?" Tooth asked, standing in front of his candles until the yellow light seemed to surround him like a halo. "Why in the world would you want to do a silly thing like that?"

"I want to win back Race's comb for him."

Tooth appeared to be thinking that over for a moment. "But you'll play for your own stakes?"

"Of course," answered Blink.

"Take a seat."

As if on cue, Joey Gin moved away from the table; he didn't go back to the darkest corners of the room but, instead, took his place right behind the wooden chair that Tooth had taken first. Blink took the one on the other side of the table and, since there was only two chairs, Mush and Race stayed where they were.

Tooth gathered his cards together but kept them cupped in his left hand, rubbing his thumb along the edge, fanning them out absently as they made a fast, slapping sound. Meanwhile, all eyes on him, Tooth reached underneath his table with his right hand and, when he straightened up in his seat, he was also holding a box. With a thwack, he let it settled on the tabletop in front of him.

It was a box no bigger than the type of box that a rich fella might keep his cigars in. It was wooden, of course, because almost everything in Tooth's room seemed to be made of wood, and it was certainly deep. Odds and ends were tossed inside—from his place, Mush could see a small ragdoll, a handful of marbles, a few scraps of paper, and a tin harmonica—and Tooth took his time rooting around until he let out a short whistle. There, in his hand, was Race's comb.

"One man's treasure for another's," Tooth purred, placing the comb alongside the candleholder's base. "What can you put up?"

"I wouldn't mind it if ya put your patch up," offered Joey from his place behind Tooth.

Kid Blink wasn't grinning anymore. "I got somethin', don't ya worry."

And he managed to say that with such determination that Tooth didn't even ask to see what it was first. Instead, jerking his chin up over at Mush and Race, he placed his cards lightly on the table opposite of Race's comb and gestured purposely at the back of the door. "We'll be playin' now, so, you see, that means the two of you should be leavin'."

Race nodded and turned to leave but Mush stayed where he was standing. He didn't understand. "We have to leave?"

"Aye."

Tooth had picked his cards up again; he couldn't bear to be separated from them for too long. Like a waterfall, they fell from his top hand to his palm waiting below. Race was mesmerized, watching as each card laid neatly on top of its brother, but Mush wouldn't be deterred.

"What about him?" he asked, pointing at Joey Gin.

"He stays. Them's the rules."

"Whose?"

"Mine," Tooth answered simply. "Unless you won't be wantin' your comb back?"

Race reached out and placed a stubby hand on Mush's shoulder. "It's how he plays. Come on, Blink'll be fine."

"Blink?"

Kid Blink's jaw was set, his good eye watching the cards in Tooth's hands. There still wasn't any sign of his characteristic grin as he called behind him: "Go with Race, Mush. I'll meet you outside when I've won."

It didn't feel right, but Blink told him to go and, besides, Mush was the sort of fellow to follow when being led. And, as Race carefully steered him out back the way they came, he didn't argue again and he didn't fuss—he just went where Racetrack wanted him to go.

End Note: And there's part two - we finally got to meet Tooth and his sidekick and we see a little bit about Mush and Polly's relationship (like it's real, for a start). I'm really trying to focus on characterization here as well as plot, and I hope that's coming across. Part three coming soon!

Also, I'd like to give a very special thank you to MissThursday for taking the time to review this story! I really appreciate it :)

- stress. 01.29.11