This Ain't Just Newsies No More ~ Sprace & Javid

1 | New Day | Race

Enjoy! :)

Despite waking up to find that Snipeshooter stole his cigar, Race is in a good mood today. He loves the feeling of it being a new day, a fresh start, new headlines; same routines, just new little things.

"I got a hot tip on number four," Race tells Weasel.

"Oh yeah?"

"Aw, yeah, not like last time."

Weasel agrees.

Today's a new day. Maybe today will be the day number four wins.

Race loves a good under dog--or in this case, under horse. Even if everyone else calls it bad judgment. What can he say? Gambling is fun.

"Baby born with two heads," he reads in the paper. "Must be from Brooklyn."

These papes ain't gonna sell themselves.

Race loves going to Brooklyn. He also loves Sheepshead more than anything. Hopefully some day he could have a box there.

A permanent box at Sheepshead Races, he muses. If only.

That's when he sees a certain Spot Conlon.

"Hey Spot," Race says, nonchalant.  His heart may have skipped a beat when Spot's ice blue eyes found his and he nodded back in acknowledgement. Then Race remembered something. "Oh wait, Spot!"

He runs over to him. Spot raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Has there been a baby born with two heads in these parts?"

"A baby born with--wait, where'd ya get that idea?"

"Ya see, it's the headline today," Race explains and gets out the paper for Spot to read the headline. He smirks as he snaps it up and then says, "I assumed it was from Brooklyn."

Spot rolls his eyes. "Very funny."

"Well, I gotta get goin'," Race says. "Today's the day number four wins."

"Ya actually think so?"

"Does everyone think I have rotten judgement?"

"The thing, Race, is that I don't think. I know."

Now Race rolls his eyes. "Very funny." Then, he leaves for real.

It only takes a few moments to feel the thrill. The thrill of the crowd, the anticipation, the heated gambling, the horses, the suspense...all of it, mixed up perfectly with people of which might not know that there was a baby born with two heads today and there's a very good chance that it was from Brooklyn.

He can't believe it.

Number four lost.

Again.

It doesn't matter that Race sold all his papes. He spent all his money on gambling. True, number three did give him something, but he lost more money than anything.

Maybe I do always pick bum odds, he thinks glumly. 

He walks out of Sheepshead and looks up to the sky. The sun's at the uncomfortable point of being past noon but not low enough to be considered a sun set yet. It's probably closer to 4:00 or 5:00 pm; 6:00 if he's pushing it. There's not much left for him to do.