The Queen's Race (Newsies | Sprace)

Chapter 3

Spot wondered what they were getting themselves into. Before they had left the lodge, Mush had grabbed a baseball bat out of the closet.

"Mush?" Jack called the boy behind him, "How close are we?"

"If I remember correctly, it should be that house there at the end of the block," Mush said.

By now, the group had moved into the residential part and not the low-end part. The house Mush had pointed to was a big solid-looking brick house that sat at the end of the block and was barely visible in the dark light.

The boys went into the yard and walked around the house until they found an open window. The boys all climbed through the window into the basement. Slowly they moved through the dark halls until they opened into a lit room, but it was surprising who was in the place.

All of the Queen's newsies were scattered about the room. And they found Race as well. Race was sat against a support pole at the back of the room with his hands tied behind him and bandanna restricting him from talking. He had not yet noticed the group of newsies had arrived finally because his eyes were downcast at the floor.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" Volt, the Queen's newsies leader, said leaning against the pole Race was tied too.

"Volt, just give us back Race, and we will leave," Spot yelled across the room. When Spot yelled, Race's eyes looked up from the floor to meet Spot's.

"Let me think. Give up the one thing that can bring both Manhattan and Brooklyn to a stop for free. I think not," Volt laughed.

"What do you want? Name your price," Jack yelled at this time.

"Oh, Jack, there is nothing I want from you, but Spot, I want Brooklyn," Volt said. Race started to thrash against the bonds holding him. Volt squatted down and slipped his finger through the bandanna around Race's face and slipped it down around his neck.

"Race, are you ok?" Albert yelled.

"Oh, ya. I just doing great thanks, Albert," Race said sarcastically.

"So, Spot, what do you say. Brooklyn for Anthony," Volt laughed while running his hand through Race head of curls, which obviously had not been washed in a while.

"Do not call him that! And do not touch him!" Spot yelled, still thinking about his options.

"Spot, non-neanche pensarci. You are not trading me for Brooklyn," Race said.

"What other options do I have, Race. I'm not leaving you here," Spot explained.

"Brooklyn belongs to you, Spot. It means so much more to you than I do, Tesoro," Race coxed before the bandana was moved back to its original position, restricting Race's speech.