Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 21: Walking Away
Before the sun had fully risen, Race was already up and alert. He'd slept fitfully the night before and had found himself in a half-awake state in the early hours of the morning, so once the first light of dawn had begun to illuminate the window of the lodging house washroom, he'd risen from his bed, resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get any more rest until evening.
His sporadic (if persistent) bouts of insomnia had never made sense - Race wasn't the kind to mull things over at night, and he didn't consider himself a worrier (he left that to Jack, and in his absence, Davey was a more than adequate substitute), but he'd always been a light sleeper, and rest regularly eluded him, whether it was the fire sirens blaring at intervals throughout the night or something nameless and unidentifiable that kept him awake.
He'd learned how to function on little sleep, so today would be just another one of those days, but Race secretly wished that he'd been able to have a few more hours of shut-eye. Today was going to be difficult enough without having to deal with the cumulative fatigue resulting from several nights of poor sleep.
The meeting at the lodging house the evening before had gone pretty much as he'd expected. Davey had talked (a little too much, in Race's opinion) about the strike and the sticky situation in which they found themselves with the money running low. He'd presented the options for moving forward, with Race chiming in to give a breakdown of the numbers with respect to the Newsie Fund, then had thoroughly explained the pros and cons, opened the floor for discussion, and finally proceeded to put it to vote.
The results had been mixed - and if the discussion that had preceded the voting was any indication, it was a difficult choice for most of the boys - but, as Race had predicted, the newsies had elected to return to work the following day, not unanimously, but by a significant margin. Davey, to his credit, had upheld the decision without flinching, but Race had seen the crestfallen look on his face when he'd left the lodging house that night to return home.
Maybe it's just as well.
Jack was gone, Crutchie was in The Refuge, and Race was getting tired of his role as de facto leader of the newsies. It wasn't that he couldn't step up when the situation called for it, but he didn't like being forced into something that he hadn't signed up for. Leading the newsies in the midst of a strike was completely different than managing the normal everyday business of the lodging house, and, while Race wanted justice just as much as the next fellow, the strike hadn't been his idea.
That didn't mean that he wasn't conflicted about its abrupt and pending conclusion.
Race pulled his newsboy cap onto his head and shrugged on his vest. He wasn't sure how things would play out once the newsies all went back to work, but he figured that after a few days had passed, things would likely return to some semblance of normal. Sure, they would probably lose face with Spot and the rest of the city's newsies for backing out of the strike, and the Delanceys would definitely have some nasty insults waiting for them when they lined up that morning at the circulation window, but what was all of that to him? He wasn't the one responsible for landing the newsies in this mess.
Not for the first time, he felt his anger flare up against Jack.
It wasn't the strike's failure that galled. It was the fact that Jack hadn't bothered to come back and see it through to its end. Making the wrong decision was forgivable - they'd all done it before. But skipping out just when things were getting difficult? That wasn't right. You could have your off days or times when you needed to just get away to blow off steam (Race respected Jack's need to sleep on the rooftop and let him have his space, even if that meant Race ended up being the first on call for any of the newsies sleeping in the lodging house), but staying away for days on end when you knew that your family needed you…
Race silently ground his teeth in frustration.
He'd tried to assume the best at first, reasoning that Jack would come back soon, or that maybe he'd been prevented from returning because he'd been thrown into The Refuge himself. Race would have never wished the latter upon anyone, but at least it would have been a logical explanation for Jack's absence. When the newsie leader failed to show up after several days, however, Race had quietly sent Specs, the most reliable of the boys at the lodging house, over to The Refuge under the cover of night, tasking him with checking on Crutchie and determining whether or not Jack was with him.
Specs' report upon his return had been grim to say the least. Crutchie had put on a characteristic show of optimism, but Specs had sensed that he wasn't doing well, and Jack wasn't in the Refuge, which meant that he was purposefully avoiding a return to the lodging house. There was something else, too - Race had seen Specs' eyes flicker slightly when he'd questioned him about Jack - but Race hadn't been able to get any additional information out of the other boy, so he'd let the subject drop.
Just hold on, Crutchie, he thought silently. You gotta get through this. The boys are losin' Jack already - they ain't gonna be able to handle losin' you, too.
Race's fingers instinctively gravitated towards his vest pocket, searching out his cigar, before he remembered that he couldn't sneak out to have a smoke right then - it was almost time to sound the morning wake-up call.
As if on cue, the church bells began to chime the hour, and Race made his way to the front of the bunk room, shaking the weariness from his shoulders and the dejection from his mind.
Another day was here.
"Hey, wake up you bummers!" he called loudly. "It's mornin' - time to get to carryin' the banner!"
Oscar Delancey had just finished unloading the last stack of papers from the wagon bearing the morning edition of The World when he felt his brother elbow him in the side.
"Hey, Oscar," Morris scoffed. "Get a load of this."
Oscar turned, and saw to his surprise that the Manhattan newsies were trudging through the circulation gate looking glum and despondent like a rag-tag militia after a defeat. Racetrack Higgins was at the head of the group - the only one looking even remotely defiant - and next to him walked Nineteen Papes with his little shadow tagging along beside him.
Kelly was conspicuously absent, and Oscar wondered what that meant. He hadn't managed to lay a hand on the newsie leader during the brawl at the distribution center (though the satisfaction he'd felt from striking Crutchie had helped offset that disappointment a little), but it looked like something had prevented Kelly from coming back with the boys. Maybe he was off licking his wounds somewhere and didn't have the guts to show his face.
Well, no matter. Oscar would have enough fun humiliating his boys, and without their blustering, headstrong leader to protect them, they would be even more vulnerable.
Cracking his knuckles, Oscar relished the thought of finally putting the newsies in their place. Ever since the strike began, things had been unsettled at the distribution center. The daily protests outside of the circulation gate and the inability of the newspaper owners to effectively quell the uprising had made the last several days aggravating for Morris and Oscar, and their uncle Wiesel had been getting progressively more agitated as the strike had dragged on. Even though they'd managed to employ a handful of strikebreakers to distribute The World, circulation of the paper had been down significantly, and they were always having to find new scabs to replace the ones who either quit or were soaked by the striking newsies.
Wiesel had faced intense pressure from his superiors at The World to keep order, but doing so had proved to be an impossible task. The newsies were too many in number, and even though they'd been surprised and overcome easily enough in the first confrontation, without reinforcements, Wiesel and his nephews hadn't been able to get things under control since then. The higher ups had, of course, criticized them for their incompetence, and just that morning there had been threats of layoffs if the protests weren't suppressed soon. The ultimatum had thrown Wiesel into a near panic, and, though Oscar had maintained his quiet and surly exterior, he'd been worried, too.
So the apparent surrender and return of the striking newsies was extremely serendipitous, and though Oscar would never have admitted it, he was immensely relieved to see even Higgins' hated face that morning as the group of boys drew near the circulation window.
"Well, well, look who's come crawling back," Oscar sneered once his adversaries were within earshot. "If it isn't the scum of The World."
"Got tired of playing strike, didja?" Morris jeered.
A few baleful looks were shot in their direction, but the newsies said nothing as they formed a crooked line to purchase their papers.
"Hey, where's your leader, huh?" Morris asked, setting a stack of the morning edition down on the counter. He smiled tauntingly. "Did he run off scared and leave his little boys all alone?"
None of the newsies answered, but their agitation noticeably grew.
"Guess the rumors we heard were true, then," Oscar added loudly so that even those at the back of the line could hear. "Kelly's a coward - always could talk a good game, but yellow-bellied through and through!"
"You morons started those rumors!" Higgins snapped, finally provoked into responding. "Jack don't run from no fight."
Oscar glanced at his brother, smirking. "Is that so, Morris?" he asked. "That's not what I saw."
Morris shook his head. "No, that's not what I saw, either." He grinned derisively. "I might've been distracted, though. My brass knuckles and I were having a little too much fun beatin' up that crippled kid. Too bad they hauled him off so quickly - it would've been fun to see how loudly we could've made him scream."
The mention of Crutchie did it. Higgins snarled and looked like he was about to rush the circulation window when Nineteen Papes, in line just behind him, quickly laid a hand on his arm. Higgins shook him off angrily, but Nineteen Papes said something quietly to him, and to Oscar's surprise, after a moment of hesitation, Higgins backed down. He then shot a dark look in Oscar and Morris' direction before stalking off to the rear of the group, cursing loudly as he went.
Nineteen Papes turned to watch him go, then he looked around at the rest of the newsies.
None of them moved. They all seemed to be silently waiting for his cue.
Oscar waited.
Wiesel and Morris waited.
The newsies waited.
Finally, Nineteen Papes stepped up to the window.
Oscar, hiding his relief, was about to level another triumphant insult in his direction, when he found the words suddenly dying in his throat as he took in the boy standing before him.
Something was different. Very different.
This wasn't the nervous outsider who had ignorantly asked about newspaper buy-backs his first day on the job. This wasn't even the cautious subordinate feeding words to Kelly, or the reluctant leader who had held back the newsies from soaking the scabs. Something had happened over the course of the past several days.
Nineteen Papes had changed.
It was a small and subtle change, but it was there, and now that Oscar could see him up close, it was even more obvious than before. Nineteen Papes stood taller, more confident and self-assured than Oscar had ever seen him, and instead of looking down or anxiously about himself, his gaze was focused and steady. Somehow, in the span of only a few days, he'd emerged as an undisputed leader of the newsies, and the boys behind him were clearly ready to follow his lead.
Something about that made Oscar uneasy.
Nineteen Papes fished out his money and placed it on the counter.
"I'll take forty newspapers - " he began, before he broke off suddenly. He was staring straight past Oscar to where Morris and Wiesel were standing, and he seemed to be taking something in, his eyes widening a bit at first before narrowing in recognition of something Oscar could only guess at. What was he looking for? What had he found?
Nineteen Papes continued his scrutiny of Morris and Wiesel a moment longer...
And then he looked Oscar in the eye.
Something changed in his expression.
"You know what?" he said, his voice quiet and steely. "Never mind." And abruptly he swept the coins into his hand and stepped down from the circulation window, turning deliberately to walk away, towards the circulation gate and out of the distribution center without looking back.
The other newsies hesitated only a moment before they wordlessly followed him, and Oscar was filled with an odd sense of deja vu as once again the distribution center was deserted in a matter of minutes, the stacks of papers left completely untouched. It was a quiet defection, nothing compared to the rowdy defiance of the newsies' first protest. But somehow, this silent, deliberate walking away unsettled Oscar even more, and when he turned to look at the faces of his brother and his uncle, he saw that they, too, were shaken.
The familiar feeling of anger began to tighten in Oscar's stomach, and he allowed it to grow even as he forcefully pushed back the fear that tried to coil its way into his mind.
Well, this was a new development, he thought to himself. Kelly was out of the picture - at least temporarily - but somehow in his absence, the soft new kid had grown a spine, and it appeared that he was now helping Higgins lead the band of upstart newsies.
Nineteen Papes' silent appraisal and the decisive action that followed had been unsettling, but Oscar refused to admit that he'd been bested for long. This was only a temporary inconvenience. The newsies would have to give up on their hopeless strike soon enough, and the noose was already tightening since Crutchie was out of commission and Kelly had abandoned his boys. Higgins, as evidenced from the earlier confrontation, was as hot-headed as ever, which meant that he could be easily coerced into doing something foolish, and Nineteen Papes might have won this round, but Oscar wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating him again.
The other boy had to have a weakness, an Achilles' heel of some kind. Oscar just hadn't been watchful enough to figure it out yet. His little shadow - a brother, perhaps? Could that be the key? Or maybe the camaraderie that seemed to have developed between him and Higgins? Could that be exploited somehow?
The one thing that Oscar was almost sure of was that Nineteen Papes was no fighter. He'd seen enough to convince him of that during the initial brawl at the distribution center, and the fact that the other boy had not only held back the newsies from soaking the scabs that day but had also stopped Higgins from physically giving vent to his anger just moments ago seemed to be decisive evidence that he would be unlikely or unable to retaliate if faced with a soaking. So, that was something.
But it wasn't enough, because Oscar never fought with fists alone.
Patience, he reminded himself. It was only a matter of time. They'd broken two of the newsies' leaders already, and the volatile Higgins was one pointed insult away from snapping. Eventually, Nineteen Papes would falter, too.
And when he did, Oscar vowed that he would find a way to break him as well.
A/N: FINCH: (confused) Why's Oscar suddenly showin' up again in the middle of the story?
RACE: (sarcastically) To prove he's still alive.
Thanks, as always, for reading this chapter - if you'd be so kind as to leave a review, I'd greatly appreciate it! :)
Also, this chapter makes mention of Specs visiting Crutchie in The Refuge and procuring the letter that he then takes to Jack at Irving Hall. If you'd be curious to see my take on that missing scene, please feel free to check out the installment in Interstices entitled "Tightrope Walker."
