Chapter Text
Racetrack Higgins was hanging on by a thread. Somehow, he was in charge of all of the Manhattan Newsies. Jack was missing, which knocked him out of his normal position as leader, and Crutchie was in jail, or dead for all they knew.
So that left Race.
Any other newsie would have been a better choice than him but for some reason, Jack trusted him. Jack was stupid. Race was the last newsie known to be responsible. But Jack apparently saw beyond that. He could see beneath the though person’s Race put up. Race wanted to strangle Jack for it most of the time.
“Race.” David might be another reason why Race was hanging on by a thread. If it wasn’t for him they wouldn’t be in the mess they’re in. Then again, if it wasn’t for him they’d be paying sixty cents a hundred. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m great,” he lied. How could anyone be ‘great’? They got beat on the day before and everything was going wrong. The strike was a lost cause. “Where’s the kid?”
David glanced to his side. Les always stood on that side, Race had noticed. He had no clue why but he noticed it. He noticed a lot of things.
“Um, he’s at home. Why?”
Race shrugged and dropped his head onto his arm that lay on the table. “Jus’ wonderin’.”
All David did was nod. David drove Race mad. He could read people like they were just an open book. Race wished he could at least read a book. But if David could read people, Race could do something far more vital; work them. He knew how to pull strings to win someone over, a touch of the arm, a wink of an eye. That was something he could do that David couldn’t.
One day, Albert had suggested that maybe he was jealous of David. Race and Jack had always been close, then suddenly David swooped in and seemed to steal that spot. He wasn’t jealous or petty about it. No, he honestly couldn’t care less.
“Racer.” Calls of his name came from the front of the lodgings.
Ordinarily, Race could have ignored the calls for him. Jack was the leader; it wasn’t up to Race to look after these things. But Jack wasn't the leader; he was. And he had to deal with whatever issue was going to join the long, long list of issues he had to figure out how to fix.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, stepping out the door and onto the street. A small kid stood there with Albert and Buttons. Red shirt. Brooklyn. “Conlon sent you?” The kids nodded in reply. “What’s he want?”
The kid, bless him, was shaking like a leaf, trying to fish something out of his bag. “Just tell me,” Race instructed.
“Spot’s wi’ you.”
With that, the kid turned and ran. Race glanced over his shoulder at JoJo stood behind him. The message was clear. Track the kid. Make sure he gets back to Brooklyn safe. The last thing they needed was a Brooklyn kid going missing hanging over their heads.
Race looked at Albert, who just grinned back at him. “What are we gonna do?” he asked, shoulders sagging once all the others had left them. “I can’t do this.”
“I know,” Albert said, really helping to restore Race’s confidence. “Y’ain’t alone. There’s me an’ Jo an’ the other boys. We’ve got you.”
“Sure,” Race mumbled, dragging a hand down his face. He took a deep breath and looked at Albert for a moment before turning his head towards the street.
Some people strolled up and down, none paid them any heed. It was a typical night in New York. Only Race didn’t have the comfort of knowing that just above him on the roof, Jack and Crutchie were sleeping safely. He had been having trouble without knowing that.
“I’m gonna go sleep.”
“Sure.”
He didn’t sleep that night.
~~~
The next day Jack came back. He wasn’t the same without Crutchie. Of course he wasn’t. Crutchie was the one thing that kept Jack alive. Jack could claim that Santa Fe was what drove him but they all knew it wasn’t true. Crutchie kept Jack alive.
Later that day, Jack left again. A few hours before the rally. He promised to be back before they would leave. To talk to the boys before it. Explain everything.
He never did.
They all arrived at the rally together. If there was one thing that could be said about the Manhattan newsies it’s that they were a family. Through and through. Jack wasn’t at the rally when they arrived. He wasn’t there until the end. When it all went wrong.
But Brooklyn had been there.
Despite selling in Brooklyn, Race had never met the allusive Spot Conlon. No, he did all his business with the second, a boy called Hotshot, who seemed to live up to the name. So at the rally, he couldn’t help but look at Spot Conlon.
Something about him drew Race’s eye to him. He was short. Something he’d never imagined about the mythical leader. If anything, he would have expected him to be freakishly tall the way people made him out to be. The only thing that stopped him from staring at Spot for the entire rally was Jack.
Jack betrayed them.
Betrayed them. For money.
Race felt sick to the stomach. He was mad and made sure Jack knew that. After that, they all left the theatre, walking back to the lodgings with a lot less order than how they’d arrived. At some point, he’d steered off into a random alley to sit down. His heart was pounding and he just couldn’t do it. He had to get away from the crowd. Albert was there with him the entire time. Maybe Albert was Race’s Crutchie.
Kloppmann told him that he ought to be exhausted after everything. He wasn’t wrong. Race just didn’t want to admit it. That night he crashed into his bunk and slept for a long time. The snores of Albert that typically kept him up, were like a lullaby. The next morning, Albert told him that Brooklyn had gone back straight after the rally.
He never saw Spot Conlon again.
Race spent many nights sleepless, thinking of the Brooklyn leader.