Disclaimer: I don't own "The Outsiders."
Saturday night I was downtown
Workin' for the FBI
- The Hollies
So I'm sittin' on the bench while the secretary's pullin' up my file, and kid, you woulda swore they pulled up a fuckin' landmine or something. One of the rookies' got sweat runnin' down his face and he's dabbin' it with the corner of his sleeve, and the other one, he's stone-faced, looks like a livin' goddamn stone, lookin' back at me. The secretary leaves the room to go get something and I make like I'm gonna go after her, even though I'm not, she's eighty thousand years old anyway, just to fuck with 'em. Dig? Just to get a fuckin' rise outta them. I'm leanin' back against the wall like I'm tough shit.
Hey.
I am tough shit.
Don't you forget it.
Smart ass.
Appearances, y'know? Appearances. They dragged me in for God knows what, prolly breathin' in their fuckin' No Breathin' Space, but whatever. They drag me in for everything. I had to look the part. I had to play the part. That file was only the beginning. I had to make like I was the sort who might or might not whip out some brass knuckles and play tetherball with their ugly mugs.
Christ, semmer down, we ain't goin' that fast. You puke up on merry-go-rounds, too? You're gonna knock that blonde head of yours off a fuckin' street sign if you keep that up. Shuddup and siddown.
So anyway, they take me down one of their spooky-lookin' steel hallways, one of those that's got white lights and cobwebs all over the damn place, where you can hear the fuckin' toilet flush like two rooms down, and they sit me in this hard-ass chair that's splintered in so many places my balls are crawlin' back up my stomach. I wince. And that's all I do - I wince. But you got to be careful with that sort of shit, you hear? Every little thing the fuzz picks up on, that's how they train 'em to be, like. I wince and they think they got me shakin' in my boots.
So of course Mr. Stone-Face walks around me, while Short Shit locks the door, and it's just so fucking Dragnet it makes me wanna laugh right in their fucking faces.
Lord.
First they ask me a coupla stupid questions. What's my address - as if anyone there gives a flying fuck - what am I doin' hanging round a house of ill repute (that's the fucking way he said it, too, I swear), how come I have such a squeaky clean record, how come I smell of smoke, how come I'm wandrin' round the wrong side of town, how come I ain't in school on a Wednesday.
School sucks every day of the God damn week, you kiddin' me? I don't learn nothin' there.
Am I gonna ever get round to tellin' the story or you two finished clucking?
Thank you.
So.
These guys think they're the shit. They think they're... they think they're too good, which pisses me off red and blue 'cause they think they can save me. They think they got that kind of power, like they're just there to help out the poor old hood. I fuckin' hate that, man. The short fat one's leanin' over the table on his elbows, talkin' the way you would to a blind dog, and the other one thinks he's my dad, just standing there glarin' at me with his arms crossed even though I didn't do jack shit. I got no reason to be here.
Then, finally, fuckin' finally, they get to the point. They ask me if I know anything about the park, and I shrug. Which, also, you don't do. You don't shrug to the fuzz. You just don't. 'Cause then Mr. Stone-Face smashes his fist against the table.
We ain't got no time for playin' games goddammit hood, there's a murder charge floatin' round and the DA's on our ass for a case - oh man, he went off on me. And the funny thing was, his voice was fuckin' squeaky. Like, uh, like one of those baby dolls little girls squeeze and out farts that shrill little voice. Yellin' at me. Lookin' like his head's gonna swell up and pop off. And all that time that voice, that little girl fuckin' voice, man... I had to fuckin' keep my trap clamped, but I almost pissed m'self trying not to laugh.
...I may or may not have been stoned.
Yeah, Pony, I told him you and Johnny was elopin' to get married in Guadalajara. The hell you guys wanna eat?
Christ, that's expensive. Pick somethin' else.
Cheaper.
How the hell am I s'posed to know...?
Do you have it...?
She says they don't have it.
No.
They don't have that either.
I said they don't have it.
They don't have, fuckin' Christ on toast I said. They don't. Have. It.
Well, unless you plan on glaring at the window till it magically pops out, you ain't gettin' none. I'm never takin' you two out again, Jesus, higher maintenance than a pair of Socs.
Don't you fucking look at me like that. Shut up and eat that sammich 'fore I shove it down your goddamn throat.
Anyway. Before I got distracted by Your Highness over here. I make like I don't know shit, at first, which of course they eat up. Makes 'em feel smart when they "catch" ya. I don't make like I'm afraid or nothin', in fact, you wanna do the opposite. Be so mad they think you're scared. Then shut your trap and watch 'em crash and burn.
They keep asking me where you are; they wanna make me shocked that they know about y'all. I say: Dunno, you tell me, and their fuckin' heads almost pop off, they're so pissed.
Well now, it's been about an hour and I'm gettin' mighty tired of this Tom and Jerry shit. So I just says the first thing that pops into my head: Texas. Houston. Five-gallon hats and remember the Alamo and all that. I don't give a shit. Yeah. Quit wiggin' out, man. They can't even sniff out the shit from their own assholes.
Although one of them must have told Two-Bit when they hauled him in the next day, because he told us he was goin' there and we all said Shut the fuck up, you ain't goin' nowhere. But the thing is, I didn't tell no one. Ain't his dad a cop or something? I don't know. Someone ratted. Yeah, it was a big stinkin' lie, but still, it's the principle of the thing.
...Heh.
Nah. Just thinking of somethin' funny.
That fat cop. When they let me go, and I'm halfway out the door. Know what he says to me? Know what he says as I'm splittin' that joint?
Have a good day, son.
Have a good day.
I went straight to Buck's and got fuckin' smashed.
Cops, man.