DELECTABLE!!!

DELECTABLE!!!

Some Sort of Peace- Racetrack Higgins

(No trigger warnings)

Summary- Davey’s the Manhattan newsies’ leader now, but that doesn’t mean that Race still isn’t second-in-command- and it doesn’t mean that there isn’t still problems to solve.

************************************************************************     “What do you want?” Davey snapped from his place at the door, and Race swallowed any nervousness as he looked sheepishly at him. 

    “Heya, Dave,” he greeted the taller newsie, doffing his cap and offering Davey a grin that was not returned. “So, I was just thinkin’, and I got an idea for a solution to the whole situation with Brooklyn.”

    “Make it quick.” Davey glared somewhere over Race’s shoulder, in a direction that Race knew well enough to be facing the Brooklyn Bridge. Ever since Jack had taken off to Santa Fe and Davey had taken control of Manhattan, tensions with Spot Conlon and his boys were rising endlessly- Jack’s charisma had been a bigger asset than any of them had known at the time, and with him gone, they had nothing to keep Brooklyn placated other than compromises, which were adding up by the ton.

    “Well, since a lot of the problems are with Brookies sellin’ on our turf, maybe we could station some newsies near the bridge?” Race watched Davey’s face for any sign of further agitation, any note that he should back off and come back later, but the other’s face remained stone cold. “If we set definite rules for where Conlon’s boys can go, he won’t try and push the boundaries any further back.”

    “How do you know this’ll work?” Now, Davey seemed interested. Race almost heaved a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be facing the wrath of their new leader, who’d changed so much from the meek and polite boy the newsies had first met that it was uncanny, especially how fast he’d been to take over when Jack left. It’s like remarryin’ while your wife ain’t even cold, Race mused silently. 

    Clearing his throat and twirling his cigar in his fingers, Race continued. “I’ve been hangin’ around Brooklyn a lot- had a lot of conversations with Spot, y’know- and I’ve notice that for all their toughness, the last thing Conlon wants is a fight.” His lips turned up in a smile. “If we play nice for a while, give ‘im a soft reminder that Manhattan ain’t his turf, he’ll back off.”

    Davey’s hand toyed almost nervously with the seam on his sleeve, picking at the worn thread. “Go see if Specs’ll deliver the message,” he commanded, and Race resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Not even a thank-you?

​​​​​​​   “Sure thing, boss.” As Race turned to leave, he felt some sort of shift in the air behind him. Turning to look one last time, he saw Davey looking at him- were his eyes that misty before?

    “You’re doing great, Racer,” Davey smiled softly, a complete one-eighty from the angry expression he always wore. “I know that it’s been hard without Jack here, but… you’re doing just fine.”

    Race grinned back. “Thanks, boss.” Before he shut the door, he called back, “You’s not doin’ to bad yourself.”

    And with that, he swept out of the room, off to try and organize some sort of peace with Brooklyn- with a plan in his head and a friendly feeling in his heart.