A/N: Anyone reading? Anyone at all? Constructive criticism welcome. Ah, but no matter. Newsies fanfiction is incredibly fun to write, and write I shall. Just for reference, David really has nothing to do with this story. The only reason that he's secondary character is because he's narrating. So who could POSSIBLY beat the infamous Race Higgins at poker? R&R!

I don't own Newsies.

David could not believe his eyes. Someone was gambling, with Race. And winning.

In his short time at the Manhattan lodging house, he had learned a few things. First: Never, ever mention money-unless you were bragging. Second: It really only takes a pretty girl to turn a bunch of wild beasts into collected gentlemen. And third: Racetrack was king of all things gambling. No one could ever beat him.

Or so David had thought the week before, when he had cleared out his pockets (along with half a dozen other boys) during a pitiful game of blackjack.

Yet here he was, sitting on a barrel in disbelief as Race tried not to twitch, or glance at the pile of money in front to his opponent. All that was left was his pride.

"I'll raise you three," said the opponent smugly, sliding a few crumpled bills to the middle of the table.

Behind him, Blink shook his head at Race twice. No bet, again. Even petty cheating wasn't enough to bring him up at this point.

No one could understand how the opposing player did it. Several 'Hattan newsies were loitering around the room, surreptitiously checking him for signs of cheating.

There were none.

He had come alone two hours prior; walked in unannounced and boasted that he could beat the renowned Racetrack at a hand of poker. And now, he was proving that claim mercilessly.

Ignoring Blink's negative antics, Race slid his last few quarters across the table. "Seventy-five."

"Moment of truth," muttered Skittery from the corner.

Closing his eyes, Race threw his cards down on the table. "Two pair."

The opponent smirked and, torturously slowly, lowered his cards. "Full house, baby."

Race slammed his head down on the table and groaned. "That was the stupidest thing I ever did."

The opponent collected his money and made to leave. He paused at the door, turning to the now-penniless boy at the table. "I thank you for a lovely game, Mr. Higgins. Just send a page if you desire a rematch." Then he turned on his heel and left, leaving all of the boys looking after him in wonder.

"Ten dollars," mumbled Race, his voice muffled from his position on his arms. "I lost ten dollars to that son of a bitch. The next time he comes calling, someone please remind me to never, ever play poker with Spot Conlon again."