His Blood Colored Hair | Albert DaSilva x Reader

On The Case

Two Weeks Later, February 17th, 1900

I'm walking home with Albert from selling, about two weeks after we found and reported the man in the alley. Race doesn't know what we saw, and the police haven't contacted us. Well, that's what I thought until we arrive at the lodging house, where three police officers are waiting outside.

"Albert and Y/n?" The officers ask, and I nod, confirming that that's us. "We need more info, so just come wit' us to the station."

Albert and I exchange a glace of worry before we begin following them. Once we arrive, a man walks up to me and hands me a slip of paper and a pencil.

"Write down what he looked like from what you saw," the man says, being very blunt, which scares me. I nod and grab the pencil, freaking out momentarily, because I don't ever write. I have to think back to how my mom taught me how to write, which was only once every month.

"-durty blond hare

-broun ies

-vary tall

-ponitale"

I hand over the best description I can remember, and he reads it over, clearly getting a bit stumbled by my spelling, which I know is bad.

"Thanks, miss, but this is useless. I guess this is another case going down the drain," the man says before crumbling up the paper.

"Wha- You said for me to give you a description of something I saw two weeks ago, I gave you the best I have. And what do you mean, 'Down the drain'? Can you guys not solve a murder case?" I ask, slightly angry that I had to write that down for nothing. The officer shakes his head.

"Listen, solving murders isn't as easy as it sounds. I mean, we can't just ask for every man with dirty blond hair, brown eyes, and who's tall in New York to come down to the station. And as a gal, you don't got nothing to worry about," the officer says, pulling out a cigar and lighting it.

"But there is a murderer on the damn streets! You can at least try and not just throw the pape away!" I yell, letting my New York roots shine through.

"Kid, if you wanna use that kind of language, then get out. If you got something that we can actually use, then hand if over. But if you don't, then get out," he says, taking a drag from his cigar.

I groan in annoyance before standing up and heading back to Albert, who seems shocked at my anger.

"What happened in dere, Sweethaht?" Albert says, using a cute nickname to try and calm me down.

"They're giving up on the case because they don't have enough evidence," I say. He pats my shoulder and gives me a caring smile.

"Hey, there's nothin' we can do. Besides, it ain't somethin' dat us newsies can do anythin' 'bout, so if da bulls can't solve it, then that's it," Albert says, attempting to calm me. This just makes me angrier.

"Yeah, but they didn't even try! He looked at my report and just threw it away," I grumble.

There's an awkward silence, with Albert wanting to explain that we can't do anything, and me knowing that the police haven't done anything.

"Let's jus' head home, 'kay?" Albert asks, being the bigger person and ending the argument early. I nod and we both stand up and head out.

But the entire walk home, my anger brews inside me. And once we get back to the Lodging house, I immediately go to my bunk to grab my sketch pad and my pencil. I begin to draw random doodles, because that's how I like to calm down.

Every other newsie knows that when I'm drawing, that they shouldn't mess with me, because I will break down and cry.

The sound of someone walking up to me scares me, but when I look up to see Davey, I calm down a bit.