Chapter Text
“‘Ey Race, you see Jack on your way back?” Crutchie asked, tilting his head. He was obviously trying to make it sound like no big deal. On any other day, Race would try to spare his friend’s feelings -- Crutchie had nearly been attached to Jack’s side until Davey came along. But today Race was tired and stressed and didn’t feel like coming up with a nice lie.
“No, ‘course not. He’s probably hidin’ somewhere, foolin’ around with Davey,” Race exaggerated David’s name, imitating Jack’s thick accent and tendency to fit about four more vowels into his name without changing the number of syllables in the word. Crutchie let out a strangled laugh and turned to sit back on his bunk, poorly hiding his disappointment and jealousy. Race flopped face first down on his bunk, and let out a long sigh. Without looking up, he reached for the small nightstand, feeling around for the cigar that was always on top. Of course, the surface was empty.
“Snipe Shooter! Wha’ did I say about you takin’ all of my good cigars?!” The only response was the door swinging open but the footsteps were too heavy to be the cigar thief. Race raised his head a fraction to see who was getting back to the lodging house so early in the day.
Mush was walking through the door, with Blink only a few steps behind. They must have just finished selling at the docks. Race dropped his head back onto his flimsy pillow. Mush was laughing at something Blink said, but then his attention turned toward the only other two boys in the room.
“Hey Crutchie, your leg feelin’ any better?” Crutchie just shrugged. Every now and then if his leg was really bothering him, Crutchie would just stay at the lodging house all day and take it easy, but he couldn’t afford to do it too often. “Well me and Blink sold a few extra copies today for ya,” Mush told him, dropping a nickel and some pennies into Crutchie’s hand and giving him one of his award-winning smiles. Blink simply nodded at Crutchie’s thanks, and turned to Race with a look of confusion.
“How’d ya get back from Sheepshead already? Ya lose all your money on a horse and decided ta give up?” Mush laughed like he always did when he was with Blink.
“‘Course not.” Technically he did lose money today at the races, but that wasn’t anything new, and it definitely wasn’t the reason for his early return. “Just a little trouble with Brooklyn.” At this everyone looked fairly shocked and Race could tell he was about to get bombarded with questions. Luckily, Jack decided to make his entrance at that moment. Jack swung open the door ready to greet the rest of the gang but was met with unusual silence.
“What’s the matter wit all of ya? Youse look like ya just saw a ghost or somethin’.” Jack’s smile faltered when he was met with blank stares.
“Race had some trouble wid Brooklyn,” Crutchie supplied in complete monotone. None of them had looked away from Race, not even Crutchie, who usually gave Jack his full attention.
“Oh?” This was a complete surprise to Jack; when he took over Manhattan, he’d quickly done his best to befriend Spot in order to cut down on the fights between the two boroughs. Of course, they still had occasional disagreements, but most of the Manhattan newsies were terrified of Brooklyn so they kept their distance. The only exception to the rule was Race, who was on good terms with all the boroughs, going to a different one each night to play cards with whoever had the money to join him. However as close as Race may be to the rest of the boroughs, we was without question on the best terms with Brooklyn. He sold papes on their turf every day, spending all day there once he’d finished selling and only returning to Manhattan to sleep. In fact, Race and Spot seemed to be around each other as much as Jack and Davey were.
Jack had been a newsie almost as long as Race had and he had never seen Spot and Race argue. “So you gonna tell us what happened?” Jack knew it wasn’t going to be that easy and wasn’t surprised by the muffled “fuck no” he got in response.
“Alright then, come with me, and I’ll buy ya a new pack a cigars,” he coaxed, using the trick that almost always worked. Sure enough, Race slowly got up from the bunk and glared at each of the others as he made his way to the door.
It was mid October and cold enough that Race could see his breath in front of him. He could hear Jack’s teeth slightly rattling next to his ear. Race bet himself that it would only take Jack three and a half blocks to ask what happened again. True to his prediction, exactly three and a half blocks away from the lodging house, Jack broke the silence and Race smirked in spite of himself.
“I’m guessin’ it had somethin’ ta do with Spot.” Race nodded but didn’t elaborate. “Fine, I’ll wait ‘til you’re ready ta talk then.” Jack didn’t mean it as a snappy remark, knowing that sometimes Race had to figure things out in his own head before he was ready to share with everyone else. Race appreciated the gesture, except this one might take a while to sort out; he didn’t want to relive his mistakes by thinking through what had happened.
“I’m banned from Brooklyn.” Race kept his voice level, but Jack stopped dead in his tracks and stared dumbfounded at Race.
“Um… Don’t worry, Spot’ll-”
“Spot’s the one that did it. He don’t want to see ma face there anymore.” Race tried to keep the emotion from seeping into voice, but it backfired when his eyes started filling up with tears.
Jack stared straight ahead and started walking again, giving Race a moment to collect himself. Neither one broke the silence this time: Race not wanting to continue, and Jack not wanting to push his friend. Jack did keep his initial promise though, picking up a pack of cigars a few moments later. Race grabbed one and pocketed the rest. Eventually the Brooklyn Bridge came into view on the horizon and Jack tried to steer them the other way as casually as he could. Race sighed, this time it was he who stopped walking. He sat down on the edge of the busy street and Jack joined him.
“You guys have a fight?” Jack asked as softly as he could and Race simply nodded, taking a deep breath since he knew that the conversation would never progress if he didn't actually contribute.
“I kissed him.” Race spoke so quietly that at first Jack thought he misheard him. “He, uh, didn't really appreciate that.” Race wouldn't look Jack in the face, worried about his reaction.
Jack simply sighed, “He hurt ya?” Race looked up, shocked.
“No! No, ‘course not. Just a lotta yellin’ and stompin’ away.”
Jack stared at him for a second before cautiously continuing, trying to navigate the minefield this created. “So… are you and him… do you… I didn’t know that you… Do you care for him like... that?” Jack inwardly cringed at his childish wording -- he of all people should be able to address this. Race had been the first of a few close friends he’d told he was gay, knowing that Race would never rat him out to the cops or anyone else that would hurt him for it. Jack was glad that now Race had felt like he could confide in him too, but he wasn’t sure how much Race was going to tell him.
“It was just a stupid bet ta win a couple extra coins, but Spot didn’t know that. I just walked on over to the docks, up to Spot’s throne, and pecked him real quick on the lips. Everyone started whoopin’ and cat callin’ but Spot got real pissed. Threw me out right there in front a everyone.” Race could feel his ears start to turn pink, like they always did when he was embarrassed. He just hoped his cap was pulled down low enough that Jack couldn’t see.
Jack winced, picturing it pretty clearly. Race had probably been grinning when he strolled up to Spot, who was sitting on his pile of crates, like he always did so he could keep an eye on everything. The quick kiss would have caught him off guard for sure and the mocking wouldn’t have helped any.
“I’m sure he’ll get over it. He probably just thought you made him look weak and a helluva lot less intimidating in front of all his guys. Once he has some time ta cool off he’ll let ya back into Brooklyn.” Race smiled at his friend’s reassurances.
“I’m supposed to go over for a game a’ cards tomorrow night. I just hope that’ll have been long enough for him to change his mind.” The two got up, stretched, and started the long walk back to the lodging house. By now word would have gotten around to the all the other boys about Race’s banishment, but Race was tired and didn’t want to think about having to face all of them.
“So Jack, how’s Dave doin’? You convince the poor guy into marryin’ ya yet?” Jack just laughed at the change of subject and went into great detail about how his Walking Mouth had gotten into a heated argument with a shopkeeper as Race turned his head to look at the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance.