Okay, for Tonight || Newsies Race x Oscar

Chapter 10 - Race - A Trick

- Chapter 10 - A Trick -
Warning: Kidnapping, Soaking
Third Person POV

Race grumbled with defeat and annoyance at himself as he walked towards Manhattan. He had just left Sheepshead Races for the day.

Stupid pape laws. Stupid, bad headlines. Stupid, unfair Joseph Pulitzer. Stupid 'we won't buy back papes'. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Race mentally curses, over and over again.

He had a rough day selling today. It was raining, so Sheepshead Races was less crowded than normal, making it harder to sell papes than it usually was.

Plus, no one wants wet papes. When papes are wet, they're soggy and the ink runs, plus they rip more easily. Maybe make the papes laminated, Race thinks to himself. That would help us, but no one wants to help a stupid street rat.

Race grumbles to himself again, mumbling his annoyances under his breath. He was angry, and overall in a horrible mood, something that didn't happen very often. Not even when he lost a bet, and he rarely lost those.

Stupid street rats. Street rats, Race thinks, rolling his eyes. We're human too, they seem to forget that. We work harder than most stupid adults.

Race rolls his eyes one more time as he turns the corner, walking into Newsie Square.

There, as if he was waiting for Race, or Race had the worst luck ever, which was possible, was Weasel.

He looked to be struggled to carry some boxes that looked like they were heavy, but they probably were only heavy to Weasel.

Well, maybe he should eat less and work harder, Race thinks to himself, again rolling his eyes. I don't mean to be rude, but he's cruel to us. Those boxes are probably really light, but he doesn't work as hard as we do, so he can't pick them up. Plus, he doesn't have Oscar and Morris here to do his dirty work anymore.

Weasel notices Race, as Race keeps walking. "Ey! Racer!" He whistles to grab Race's attention.

"What do ya want, Weasel?!" Race snaps, turning around to face Weasel, who looks taken aback at Race's outburst.

"Geez, someone must've rained on your parade today" Weasel mutters. Race rolls his eyes, holding up his papes.

"It's raining, people don't go out in the rain, we have terrible headlines, and the ink runs on these papes when they get wet!" Race exclaims, done with Weasel's crap. "Plus, if you were actually nice, we wouldn't call you Weasel."

"What? Do you want me to be like sweet, old Kloppman?" Weasel retorts. Race shoots him a glare.

"Yes." Weasel rolls his eyes again.

"Just come help me get these boxes in my house" Weasel responds, sounding a bit like he's pleading for help.

"Why should I help you?" Race questions, chewing on his cigar again.

He could see Weasel's face scrunch up in disgust, but he wasn't sure why. Weasel is the one who actually smokes.

Weasel sighs.

"For the sake of being nice?" Weasel suggests. Race shoots him a look, causing Weasel to sigh. "I'll give you a dime."

A dime was the same amount he made for selling ten papes, if someone didn't give him extra.

"Fine. I'll be nice and help, seeing as someone has to spread kindness in the world, and it's clearly not going to be you" Race responds. Weasel rolls his eyes again.

Race picked up a box. They weren't light, but they weren't heavy, per say. Somewhere in the middle.

There were four boxes in total, so Race carried two inside and Weasel carried two inside. They did have to make two trips.

Race was curious about what was in the boxes, but probably knew that he didn't actually want to know what was in them, and he wasn't gonna stick around to find out.

Race put down the his second, and last, box, and started to stand up again when Weasel spoke up. "Sorry, not sorry, Racer."

Before Race could process what Weasel said, something hard hit the back of his head. He collapsed onto the ground, falling unconscious as soon as he hit the floor.

Later

Race woke up to his head pounding. It was the first thing he noticed.

He was confused for a minute. He couldn't see anything, it was as if something was stopping him from seeing anything, and his hands felt restricted.

Race pulled his hands, but they were tied to something above him.

He eventually gave up, just letting them dangle.

He figured out that he was blindfolded, why, he wasn't exactly sure.

That was, until he remembered what had happened.

Weasel tricked him. He tricked him and knocked him unconscious, never mind kidnapped him.

Race swore under his breath, how could I have been so stupid? I should've known he was up to no good. It's Weasel for goodness sake!

Race mentally punched himself, seeing as he couldn't physically punch himself cause his hands were tied.

When my brothers and Oscar save me, and they will save me, I'm going to kill Weasel, and maybe bring him back so Oscar and Morris can kill him too, Race swears. Maybe not kill, I'd rather not go to the Refuge again.

Wait- I'll probably go to the Refuge again because Snyder is stupid and unfair, Race rolls his eyes again. Why is life like this? Can't a guy catch a break?

I'll get out of here, right? Race wonders. He knew his brothers would try, but Weasel had Snyder, the bulls, along with more people on his side. The Newsies are just kids, what can we do? We can't take on adults.

No- stop thinking like that. They'll help me get out of here. Race promises himself, hoping that his promise will be true. He wasn't sure, and that scared him.

Race heard movement, like people coming down the stairs. He also head hushed talking, and evil laughs.

Race freezes, praying to God. He never usually prayed, unless JoJo and Elmer suggested it, and he would sometimes join them, but he was so terrified at the moment that he was resorting to praying.

As the footsteps, evil laughs, and hushed talking got closes to Race, he could only pray that his brothers were gonna save him.

And maybe try to save me quickly, please.

1046 Words