Chapter 2
You Ain't Jacky Boy
The smell of the murky water at the docks in Brooklyn always turned Racetrack's stomach. The combination of garbage, dead fish, and the general mustiness of the Upper Bay was not a smell easily forgotten nor missed. It invaded his nostrils and clung to his clothes for days on end.
"Do my eyes deceive me or is that you, Higgins?" He heard a familiar cold voice and knew who was speaking without having to look up.
Spot landed on the dock with a hard thud, causing Racetrack to take an involuntary step back. There was a glint of light and Race recognized the gold top from Spot's infamous cane poking out from one strap of his red suspenders. Damn Spot and that stupid stick he carried around with him. Racetrack always found Spot's use of a cane to be a bit presumptuous, but never dared tell him that.
Racetrack gave a curt nod in Spot's general direction to which he did not return.
"I don't recall sending for you. If I remember correctly it was Jacky boy I asked for." Spot ran his thumb over the tip of his cane, gripping it tightly in his hand. He had a gleam in his eye, one that made Racetrack uncomfortable.
"Couldn't make it," Race muttered, not meeting his gaze. His eyes shifted around to the other boys flanking Spot, his lackeys. He recognized Poole and Jones, but there were some new faces that he couldn't place names to.
Spot gave him a smile, the corners of his mouth not reaching his eyes. "How unfortunate. As much as I'd hate to send you back empty-handed, I was expecting Kelly. I won't be needing your assistance."
Spot turned his back to walk away and Race felt like he had swallowed a pound of steel, the pit in his stomach growing heavier. He felt his face grow hot and the words spilled from him before he had a chance to stop himself.
"You're not dismissing me like that, Conlon. I didn't walk all the way here for you to be your usual asshole self to me." He felt his breath catch in his throat and realized he messed up. "Is that any way to address an old friend?" he asked jokingly, trying to back track and soften the blow his words had caused.
Jones and one of the guys Race didn't know stepped forward, grabbing a hold of him. They dug their fingers into the fleshy part of his upper arm, causing him to wince. He struggled against them, trying to loosen up their grip but they were bigger than him. His vain attempt to free himself was laughable to say the least.
Spot turned back to face them and held up a hand, signaling them to pause before they proceeded with the thrashing Racetrack knew must have been coming. He spoke, an icy chill in his otherwise calm voice. "Friends? Is that what you think we are?" he asked quietly. He gave Racetrack a cold stare. "Maybe my memory ain't so good, but we haven't been friends in a long while. Not since you forgot what your place was. I tolerate you, Higgins. But we are in no way friends." He gave Race a half shrug before continuing, "I throw you a bone by allowing you to sell at Sheepshead because you mind your business and leave me be. So I don't appreciate you coming into my domain to tell me what I am going to do. You should know that's not how shit works by now."
Racetrack watched Spot run his cane through his fingers and felt his heart pounding in his ears. He messed up and he knew that. So much for handling things delicately like Jack said.
"Need I remind you about the last guy that got too big for his britches?" There was the hint of a smile playing at the corner of Spot's mouth, but Race knew better than to mistake this as a playful one.
Racetrack rolled his eyes, knowing the risk he was taking by doing so. Spot had always been capricious, but Race was sure he wouldn't do to him what he had done to McAllister. It had taken weeks for his leg to mend and he walked with a noticeable limp now.
"I know where I stand Spot, and I know to tread lightly with you. I know my limits and I know your threshold for disrespect. But I'm tired of the veiled threats disguised as pleasantries. I mean no disrespect to you, but I am not going back to the lodging house without something to tell Jack." Race could feel himself starting to screw up again. "Can you tell me what is so urgent for you to call on Manhattan? Please?" he said, throwing the last word in there for good measure.
Spot stood motionless; his eyes fixed on Racetrack. He had a look in his eye that couldn't be placed.
Racetrack stared back at him, not wavering. He wasn't backing down. He didn't care if Spot really did soak him like that last guy. At least he'd go down like a man and not some gutless bitch. He spoke his truth and that's more than most people can say when dealing with Spot Conlon.
Spot's face was unreadable, one thing that contributed to his sense of unpredictability. When he spoke, his voice was flat and emotionless.
"Jones, Vulture, let him go."
The two older boys obliged, giving him a little shove before returning to their respective places by Spot's side.
Race rubbed his arms where their hands had dug into him, trying to regain some of the feeling back in them.
"At ease, boys." Race gave them a little salute, but their faces remained impassive. "Tough crowd," he muttered to himself.
"Leave us be, fellas. I'll take care of him if he over steps." Spot dismissed his goons and beckoned Racetrack to follow him. Race looked back at the guys, still glowering at him, and shook his head before letting Spot lead him away.
They moved wordlessly through swarms of his fellow followers before stepping out onto a lone pier. The pier looked out of place; it was clean compared to the rest of the docks in Brooklyn. There was no refuse or fish heads scattered about and the smell wasn't nearly as acrid. Instead, it smelled of water and wind, if you could call those smells. Race recognized the pier as Spot's own private dock.
"Have a seat, Higgins," Spot said gesturing toward a stack of crates sat close to the railing. Race sat down and Spot took out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured each of them some before stowing it back in a barrel.
"Where'd you get this? You steal it?" Race asked sniffing the amber liquid and swirling it around in his glass.
Spot took a small swig before answering him. "Didn't have to. I can get my hands on pretty much anything I want. Being leader has its perks. Not that you'd know, living in Jacky Boy's shadow and all." He gave him a small smirk before downing the rest of his glass in one smooth motion.
Racetrack shrugged, taking a gulp from his own cup. "What can I say, I'd rather not deal with the headache. Could have easily been me running things. But that's not the point, Spot. What is going on?"
"Right to the point, like always. No sense in making small talk, I guess." He paused. "South is gone."
Race raised an eyebrow. "Whaddaya mean 'gone'?"
"He's missing. He ain't the only one though. Bullman, Snatcher, Max. Gone. The lot of 'em. I talked to Sav over on Adkins Street and some of her girls are missing too." Spot leaned against the railing, gazing out over the water.
"Well what do you think happened? Is there a chance they all just packed up and left? We're all starting to get a little too old to sell papes now, and not many of us can pass off as kids for long."
Spot snickered and turned back to face Race. "You really think they all just up and left? Skipped town without as much of a word? This summer sun must have fried your brain."
"It happens, Conlon," Race told him defensively. "People grow up. They move."
"That may be true in some cases, like for you boys in Manhattan. But this is Brooklyn. I take care of my people, even when they can't be newsies no more."
Racetrack thought back on all the guys and even girls that had aged out of the newsie business since Spot had held the reigns in Brooklyn. Spot had a point; he was able to find at least a little something for them to do to keep food on their plates.
"Okay so say you're right then. What does missing newsies in Brooklyn gotta do with us Manhattan boys?" Race asked him inquisitively.
"You're dumber than you look, Race, and that ain't saying much," he said dryly. "If it's happening here then it's probably happening everywhere else too. You know of anyone from your parts that has just vanished without a trace? Here one day, gone the next?" Spot poured himself another drink and then filled Racetrack's cup back up.
Race leaned back against the railing and looked up, thinking hard about the question posed to him. "Come to think of it, I ain't seen O'Mahoney in a while. But he disappears all the time," Race told him.
"Suppose he's really gone. He probably isn't the first, and won't be the last either. We gotta get to the bottom of it. That's what this meeting all boils down to." Spot sat down and crossed his arms, leaning against the barrel. His eyes were focused on Race. "I gotta know that Manhattan will stand with us; that they will keep their eyes peeled and pass along any information about this situation directly to me."
Racetrack gave him a small shrug. "Sure, Spot. We can do that. You did help us last year with the strike after all." Race remembered how big of a role the Brooklyn gang played in the strike the previous summer and knew that they were in their debt for now. This would make them even, depending on if this was something they could really help with. "What is the plan? I assume you have one?"
Spot finished up his second drink and shook his head dismissively. "I'm not talking tactics today. That's a topic that Jack needs to be around for as the de facto leader of Manhattan. I just need you to tell your pal about what we've discussed and tell him we'll meet up later. Tell him I'm thinking of calling a meeting with the heads of the other boroughs. I expect him to be there. And not a word about this conversation with anyone else. I got little birdies everywhere, so I'll know who to come after if this gets out." He crossed his arms and jutted his chin forward.
Race gave him a sour expression before getting to his feet. "Ss much as I admire your bravado and have enjoyed this pleasant little chat, I best cheese it." He turned to leave and Spot grabbed his wrist.
"Don't come back here uninvited, Racetrack," he said coolly before letting him go.
Racetrack shook his head and walked down the length of the dock. "I won't as long as you tell your girl to stay outta my turf," he tossed over his shoulder, leaving Spot puzzled.
Sunlight beamed down hot on the back of Racetrack's neck and he could feel himself grow more and more agitated with every step he took. His clothes stuck to his body like melted cheese on a hot sidewalk. He was just making his way into Manhattan, the promise of shade looming in the back of his mind, when he spotted a familiar silhouette that put him further into a bad mood.
"Where the hell did you go yesterday?" he called to the girl he met at the tracks the day prior.
She whipped around puzzled and then visibly relaxed, giving him a complacent grin. "I'm not sure how a little guy like you could startle me like that." She gave him a quick once-over and a small sniff. "I don't know why I couldn't smell you from the other side of the Brooklyn bridge. You smell disgusting. Might I suggest a bath?" She said, waving her hand in front of her nose.
Race felt like punching her but decided against it, crossing his arms and scowling at her instead. "Well you sure don't smell like a bouquet of roses either. Do you avoid everyone's questions or just mine?"
She gave him a small shrug and turned away, causing Racetrack to groan.
"If it was so easy for you to leave yesterday, why didn't you do it the first 15 times I told you to?" he asked her.
"Didn't feel like it, did I? I told you I would leave when I felt ready to. Just so happened to be ready after you left."
"You made me walk all the way across the bridge to get my pal and then all the way back, only for you to be gone by the time we got there. Not to mention I missed out on lunch because of you."
"So? I didn't tell you to storm off like a baby without eating, did I? And walking is good for you. Keeps you in shape. Looks like you could stand to build some muscle," she retorted.
"Oh shove off. I talked to your boss Spot today. Told him to keep you out of Sheepshead, so don't get too used to selling around there," Racetrack shot back.
"I ain't got no boss. Can't nobody keep me outta anywhere. I go where I damn well please. Geh mir aus den Augen." The German sounded fluid, tumbling out of her mouth like water from a faucet. Racetrack was taken aback.
"What the hell did you just call me?" he asked angrily.
She rolled her eyes and cocked her head to one side. "I didn't call you nothing, Pony Boy. I told you to beat it. I ain't in the mood today, now leave me alone. I'm not at your precious Sheepshead Bay. Now go."
"Oh no, I ain't leaving this time. Not until I know for sure you will not be back there." He plopped down onto the curb, removing his hat and tossing it next to him. "I'm staying right here."
"Sohn einer Hündin," she muttered under her breath. "Fine, I'll go. I was done anyways." She snatched up her copy of the newspaper and folded it before tucking it under her arm. She stormed off in the direction of Brooklyn, kicking dirt back onto him as she walked.
"Yeah, that's right! Leave!" he called triumphantly, but she was either too far away to hear him or chose to ignore it.
Racetrack stood back up and dusted off his trousers. Now that that had been taken care of, he needed to find Jack. And he knew just where he'd be at this hour.
Jack was sitting on the fire escape, his head in Sarah's lap when Race trotted up.
"Heya Jack, heya Sarah," Race called, giving them a little wave. "I hate to break up your little rendezvous, if you will. But I just got back from talking to Spot." Racetrack glanced at Sarah and she took it as her cue to leave.
She stood up and Jack's head hit the stoop with a clang.
"Ouch! Jesus, Sarah." Jack exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head.
She let out a soft giggle. "I'm sorry, Jack. I figured this was important though. I'll give you guys some privacy." Jack gave her a cheeky grin. "Don't worry, we won't be long. I'll be in shortly."
Sarah blushed crimson and turned to climb through the window.
Racetrack waited until she was out of earshot. "Okay so first of all, the meeting started off how I expected it would. He almost didn't talk to me. Said he didn't need my 'assistance'," he told him, putting little quotes around the word with his fingers.
"Did you really expect anything less though, Race? I mean, you swindled Cub out of his money, knowing full well that the money you took was the money Cub owed to Spot. Spot had to make an example out of the kid. You're lucky he didn't bust you with his cane," Jack remarked.
"Alright, I get it. You gonna let me finish or what?" Race waited for Jack to interject again. When he stayed silent, Race continued. "So to make a long story short, Spot can't find his guys."
Jack looked dumbfounded. "Can't find 'em?"
Race huffed annoyed. "That's what I said."
"He can't find his guys?"
"What are you, a fucking parrot? Yes! Can't find some of the girls either. They're all just..." he made a noise with his mouth and waved a hand under his chin.
Jack looked up thoughtfully, stroking the side of his face. His eyes looked dark, a drastic change from just moments ago. "He wasn't lying then. This is pretty serious stuff. I heard rumors going around that Shank from Queens has lost some fellas. Midtown too. Did Spot have a plan?"
Race shook his head. "He said you guys would meet up later, talk tactics. He's calling a meeting of the boroughs, and he wants you there. I expect he'll send someone to tell you the date and time later. But he did ask if we've lost anyone too. Got me thinking. You seen O'Mahoney lately?"
"Not since the 4th. And it's the 15th now." Jack frowned. "Huh. He usually isn't gone for more than a week, is he?"
"No, never more than that." He furrowed his brows and chewed on his cigar. O'Mahoney was damn stupid. Reckless even. But he never waited longer than a week to turn back up. The thought of him being missing sent an icy chill up his spine.
"We'll keep an eye out, see if we notice anyone else disappearing. I'll coordinate with Spot and see if we can get some ideas going. We're all bound to figure something out." He sighed and shook his head to clear it. "In the meantime, I'm gonna go back in here with Sarah. Poker later tonight?" he asked.
Race gave him a toothy grin and nodded. Jack turned to climb through the window before Racetrack stopped him.
"Wait, I forgot to tell you, I saw that girl again."
"Oh yeah?"
Yeah. And this time, she was in your spot."