The King Of Brooklyn (Sprace)

Chapter 4- Race

A/N woah this is the longest chapter so far because I really enjoyed writing it not just using the script of newsies

TW: A bit of blood

Ugh. It was a terrible selling day. I barely sold any of my papers. I figured I would head to the Sheepshead to make up for it. I cross the Brooklyn bridge, going to the sheepshead quickly. I'm sure no one would be mad that I'm here, I just... Don't like being here that much. Brooklyn gives me the creeps. It feels like someone's watching you from every alleyway, every dark corner in the street. I finally make it to the sheepshead. It doesn't take very long after I cross the bridge, but every moment feels like it lasts forever in this park of New York. I get to the sheepshead, and I find someone to bet with. The boy must be around my age, as he looks like a Newsie. He wears a faded red button down and a brown vest with a Newsie cap. His faces are smudged with dirt, and everyone seems to be avoiding him. I have no problem talking to him, so I walk right up and spit on my hand, sticking it out.

"Hello, Ise Race." I say to him. He turns and looks at me, giving me a warm smile and returning my spit shake .

"Nice to meet ya Race, I'm Ace." He says. "You a 'hattan Newsie?" He asks, breaking the handshake.

"Y...Yeas. Is thats a probl'm?" I asked nervously. What if he tried to kick me out? Can he do that?

Well, I thought. The King could kick me out if he wanted too. But this wasn't the infamous Spot Conlon.

"Oh, no." Ace said. "It's not a problem, it's cool actually. Ise sell a he-ah, in Brooklyn, but Ise like ta meets otha Newsies frum alls 'cross New York." Ace smiles again. Wait a minute... I gasp suddenly. "What's wrong Race?" He asks.

"RACE AND ACE RHYME!" I shout.

"G...great observation Racer..." Ace says, embarrassed at my volume. "Anyways, yous wanna bet?"

"'Course I dos!" I reply, looking at all the horses today. "I bet a quarter that Miles ovah there's gunna win."

"I bet a quarter that Jesse's gunna win" Ace replies, just as the race starts and the horses shoot off. One of them, Orpheus I think, rams another horse, Rich, and gets disqualified for fowl play. The horse that was rammed quickly falls behind, with a slight limp. Miles and Jesse lead the pack the whole time, one never being that far ahead of the other. Right near the end of the race, Miles pulls ahead and wins. Thank Jesus or whoever the nuns told us about. I won. At least I can always count on the sheepshead to be there after a bad day of selling.

"Aw, shucks." Ace says, handing me a quarter. "Well seems like yous got lucky today."

"Thanks yous for betting with me." I say, and we spit shake again. The nuns told us to always say please and thank you, but they never seemed that appropriate until now. "See ya Ace!" I call back as I leave the sheepshead.

"Bye Racer!" I hear behind me as I go back toward Manhattan. I take much longer than I normally do, I pause to look through shop windows simply because I'm in a good mood. I won the race, and I didn't make an enemy, but rather a new friend. Not even Brooklyn can spoil my good mood now! I cheerily walk down the street, close but not quite near the bridge. Suddenly, I feel strong arms grab me, and I was pulled me into an alleyway.

"What are yous doin' he-ah ya lousy 'Hattan?" I hear a gruff voice. He must be a Brooklyn Newsie because of the way he speaks to me. He has black scruffy hair and no Newsie cap, but his cheeks are covered in dirt. Before I can respond, he hits me, hard. Right on my nose. I can feel the warm blood dripping down, and I can soon taste it.

"I was just... bettin' at da sheepshead." I whimper.

"Likely story." The voice says behind me. "Youse was sellin' in Brooklyn." No I wasn't.

"No I wasn't." Dammit Racetrack! Why would you say that?

"Sures." I feel his fist hit me again, in the eye this time. Damn he can throw a good shiner. I give up trying to talk to him and just stand there as he punches me. He pushes me into a wall, and I fall on my ankle. It cracks loudly. That can't be good.

"Hotshot!" I hear another voice say. "The hells is yous doin'?" He asks.

"A 'hattan Newsie was sellin on ours turf!"

"Well it looks ta me ya just beatin' sum poor Newsie after a bad day a' sellin. Now git back ya da lodgings' house before Ise soak ya myself!" The boy who was beating me up, Hotshot, scampers off. Who could have made him run off that easily? I wonder as I slouch against a wall, painfully aware of every new bruise that will form, before my mysterious savior steps out in front of me. It can't be. I'm so beat up that I can't see straight... Right? Because, standing right in front of me, at 5'4", is a boy with brown hair, light brown eyes, and a black cane with a golden tip. I recognize him immediately. Spot Conlon.

"Who are yous?" He asks, snapping me out of my shock.

"R...Race, sir," I say, doing a sort of kneeling before him. Did people normally do this when greeting the King? I didn't know, and I certainly didn't want to take any chances.

"Get up." He grunts. "I don't need yous bow in' tas me. Now tell me 'hattan." He grabs my collar and pulls me down to eye level. "What was yous doin' he-ah?" He is terrifying. Yeah, I can see why everyone calls him the King. So effortlessly intimidating, confident and handsome. The last thought slips into my mind before I can stop it. What was I thinking? "I'm waiting." He says.

"I was bettin' at the sheepshead, honest, Sir. I bet with Ace."

"Ace? And which horse did he bets on?"

"Jesse." I say. Did it matter?

"He always bets on Jesse." Spot says, as though he had read my thoughts. "Now if you'll be so kind as ta leave Brooklyn before any udda a my boys find yas, that'd be great."

Before I can say anything else, he disappears back into the shadows. I walk back across the bridge as fast as I can, which isn't very fast due to the horrible pain in my ankle, but somehow I feel safer, as though Spot is watching over me even now. With that thought, I head back to the lodging house, scared of what the boys'll do when they see me.