"Another one, old man."
The bartender, who had been surreptitiously observing the cold youth, nodded his head and settled down the glass he was cleaning.
"You got money, boy?" he asked suspiciously, throwing another glance at the three empty glasses in front of him.
Dally slowly lifted his eyes to meet the bartender's and grimly straightened his lips. "What do you think?"
"Well you better," he quipped, obviously unfazed by Dally's obvious threat, "This ain't no charity house."
When the bartender had turned around to prepare another beer, Dally checked the pockets of his denim jacket to find that they were, as he previously suspected, totally empty. Against his will, a low chuckle escaped his lips, causing him to wince and grab the side of his rib cage.
Damn, he thought. And he was doing so well tonight, too.
For the past couple weeks, Dally had made a habit of frequenting the local bars of Tulsa, downing large amounts of alcohol as a desperate attempt to numb his mind. Sometimes if he drank enough, or simply forced his mind to shut down, he would forget the fact that Johnny was gone. He wouldn't remember that the bullet the cop shot at him glanced off his rib and failed to end his life- his previous intention all along. And he wouldn't recall the last four months he had spent in a coma of utter despair and desolation.
Sure, he thought about offing himself. He thought about it often. It just didn't seem fair to the gang, who had spent a good deal of time helping him heal from his wounds. Dally had been staying at the Curtis house after he was released from the hospital, despite his vehement objections, and it was only a couple weeks ago when he got well enough to leave and do his own thing- that being getting drunk every night- a tidbit the gang was totally clueless about. Right after Dally left the Curtis house, he decided to pull a couple of favors and stayed at Buck's place, where he forced Buck to lie of his whereabouts should Darry or Two-Bit come looking for him. He needed to be alone.
Dally took a sip of the fresh glass of beer and swayed a little on his seat. He smiled; this was what he came for. He could feel the numbness slowly spreading throughout his body and felt a little giddy.
"A beer, Joe."
Dally looked to his left and saw a girl perched on the stool next to his, smiling at the bartender. She had long, jet-black hair and her skin was smooth and dark. When her eyes swung to Dally's, she quickly looked away- but not before he saw the color of her wide eyes- a dark brown, almost black color.
"Sure, Anna," replied the bartender cheerfully. "Long time no see."
No.
Dally couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Even though he was a little tipsy, he couldn't help but focus entirely on her.
Breathe.
Something painful that had been gnawing on the back of his head suddenly flooded through his mind and clamped it, holding it in a tight vice.
No, no, no, don't think of him, don't think of him, don't think of-
But it was too late.
Though Dally wasn't aware of it, his hands were pressed tightly against both sides of his head and his eyes were clenched closed. It was as if he was trying to block the voices inside of his head.
"Hey buddy, are you okay?"
Dally opened his eyes to be greeted by the girl's huge dark eyes and another spasm of pain racked through his body.
Before he could let all the memories resurface and consume him completely, Dally stood up and staggered toward the door, going as fast as he could to escape that- that-
ghost.
During his mad flight, he heard the bartender yelling angrily at him.
"Hey! Punk, come back here and pay for your drink!"
"Joe, Joe, I've got it," reasoned the girl named Anna, "How much?"
Dally could make no sense of what he was hearing. All he knew was that he had to get out of there as quickly as possible. When he burst outside, he sucked in a lungful of air and the last thing he felt and heard was the pain in his ribs and the sound of flurrying footsteps behind him before he collapsed completely.
