Destructive - Newsies | Sprace

Eight | Race

Quick disclaimer: I kept the name of the racing facility vague because while they dream about going to the sheepshead races, that's really far away from manhattan so I didnt know where race would sell so I just kinda plopped another racing track in the middle of New York. What did I say? Not historically accurate. Sorry.

Another day, another headline. Today, the world had forgotten all about the dead newsboy and now they were more focused on the senate, Roosevelt, and other politics Race didn't care about. He had grabbed a fair amount of papers today, despite the fact that his mind was in another place.

As the sun fell lower in the sky, he pulled out a biscuit that he had snagged from a table outside of a cafe that morning on his way to the racing center. Race took a seat underneath a tree outside of the entrance to the Racing Facility.

As Race was munching on his bread, trying to savor the chunk as much as he could, a familiar figure approached him.

"How'd you find me?" Race asked as William leaned against the tree Race was taking cover under.

"Your name is Racetrack, is it not? I took a guess." William stated, gesturing to the large sign displaying the words 'Horse Races'.

Race glared back at him.

"So..." William whispered, crouching down next to Race on the ground. "You ready to tell me where I can find Patrick?"

"Who's Patrick? I thought you said his name was Sean." Race snapped back.

"He hated that name, always did. Patrick was a little better, but it makes sense why he would change it after he left. But, I don't care about his namesake. Where is he?" William leaned in closer.

"I ain't sharin'." Now that he and Spot had become official buddies, Race didn't feel as strange defending him. Now he had a cause instead of just a weird gut instinct.

William cocked his head. "That's... interesting. I killed your friend, and you still won't tell me anything."

"So you did kill him!" Race yelled, shoving William back onto the dirt.

Race jumped up and placed his foot on William's chest. "What's stoppin' me from tellin' the other newsies, huh? Blink would tear you apart!"

William grinned. "You would have to explain how you know it's me. Then you would have to explain how you know me... ultimately revealing that Patrick has a brother, which is something I know you don't want to do."

Race pulled his foot back and realized that William was right. And he hated it. The teenage boy scrambled up from the ground and ambled off, giving Race a little wave as he made his way down the sidewalk. Racetrack wanted to go after him and slit his throat right then and there. Race pulled the remainder of the bread out of his pocket and crammed it all into his mouth, then resumed to wave a newspaper high above his head.

Barely fifteen minutes later, none other than Jack Kelly showed up.

"Heya, Jack. What're you doin' down 'ere?" Race asked as he exchanged a paper for a penny with some sort of businessman.

"I came down to see if you were here," Jack said, waving goodbye as Race's customer crammed the newspaper into his briefcase. "Apparently you been spotted in Brooklyn a couple times. Why're you obsessed with Spot Conlon?"

Race rolled his eyes. "I ain't obsessed with Spot Conlon."

"What, you want to be a Brooklyn newsie? Is that is?" Jack asked, eyeing Race up and down.