One

September 1965

"Yeah well, everyone always knew Winston would end up dead sooner or later. Anyone else get hurt in the fighting?"

Angela's not the best person to get information out of, never quite sure how much is true and how much is exaggeration with her. But right now she's my only option.

So as she carries on answering my questions about the rumble, I glance left and right, trying not to turn my head and make it too obvious I'm scoping the place out. Because it doesn't do to relax too much in here. Tim taught me that much.

Make sure you figure out what's what, what's going on in your surroundings, when the guards ain't looking. Don't let anyone think you're soft, some kind of pushover.

Can practically hear him saying it, standing there in front of my ten year old self the day he first came back from reformatory. Ma scolding him for putting ideas in my head because there was no way I was going to turn out like him. Shows how much she knew.

Tim's voice might have been cool, and monotone, that tone he always used when he was telling people what to do, the one that made everyone take note and do whatever the hell he said. But thinking about the flicker of disappointment in his eyes when he told me it all over again, on that day I first got sent here a couple years later, still makes my skin crawl. 'Cause there were no two ways about it. By getting caught by the cops I'd let him down. Again.

I fiddle with the phone cord, push away the image of Tim. Least I know this time around that he's not mad at me for getting locked up. That in being here I actually did something useful to him for once.

Instead I focus back on the sound of Angela's breathless chatter on the other end of the line as she imparts her update about all that happened at the rumble. The one I missed out on account of getting sent back here.

"Shame about that Cade kid though," I interrupt, an uneasy feeling growing in my gut as the gaggle of guys hovering around the corridor edge a little closer to me. "Didn't ever say much but Curtis always said he was tough. So he must've been all right."

"Yeah. But that ain't even the worst thing that's happened," my sister continues, her voice getting more and more high pitched like she's building up to another one of her dramatic stories. "You'll never guess what else—"

"Jesus, Ange, what in hell could be worse than some kid dying? I don't have a lot of time and I ain't interested in all your gossip. Tim there?"

"No. He's..." She pauses, sniffles a little.

"What, you two fallen out again?" I can't help myself but laugh. Seems like they spend every spare minute arguing lately. Sooner Angela learns to keep her head down and stop winding him up all the damn time the better. "What d'you do this time?"

"Nothing."

"You sure? He find out you've been lifting his booze or something?"

"No, I haven't touched it, though I might later."

I roll my eyes but don't say nothing, don't give her the satisfaction of thinking she's getting to me. Probably what Tim should do too, only somehow he always lets her push his buttons, gives her the reaction she's hoping for with her antics. "Got a new boyfriend he don't approve of?"

"Yeah, right, like anyone stands a chance of living up to his standards. But it ain't that. Me and Tim haven't had a fight about nothing, because he's not here. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Tim's been arrested."

"And everyone says I'm the dumb one," I mutter, chuckling to myself. Because although I don't say it to Angela I know it can't be anything serious. On account of the fact that the one thing they were trying to pin on Tim is the reason I'm in here. And I'm pretty sure he won't have let the River Kings get the better of him twice. So it's probably nothing more than a drunk and disorderly, or a busted taillight. Some asshole cop trying to prove a point and keeping him in the cells for a couple of nights. "Most likely he'll be home in a day or so and you'll be moaning about how he's getting on your nerves."

Angela sniffs again. "Yeah, I guess."

"What'd he get picked up for anyway?"

"Don't know. Ma won't tell me. Just sits there and every time I try to ask her she starts up crying again and don't seem to make a lot of sense. She seems in a real state about it since she got the call to tell her. Just gives me a real bad feeling, Curly, like he's really in trouble this time."

"Like that's anything unusual for Ma. When is she ever not in a state?"

"But—"

"But nothing, Angela. You know I'm right, nothing bad ever happens to Tim." It's not strictly true, but I also know it's what she needs to hear, so I carry on, hoping I sound like I mean it. "Tim always comes out of everything smelling of roses, doesn't he? So how about you cheer up?"

I've got maybe two more minutes left before my phone time is up, can hear the guys talking as they loiter behind me, their voices low. Can't make out exactly what they're saying, but I'm pretty sure I've heard my name, which don't exactly strike me as being a good thing.

I hear Angela swallow, like she's trying to compose herself, and I hope to God she don't start crying. "Yeah okay. So are they feeding you alright in there?"

"Yeah, it ain't bad, better than your cooking anyway."

I pause for a second, run a hand across my freshly cropped hair, relieved to hear her laugh, just a little, at my lame attempt at a joke.

The group of guys are a couple feet away from me now. Even if I didn't remember seeing them before, I can't miss the identical tattoos on each of their forearms, marking them as Tiber Street. And if I recognise them then it's a sure thing they know exactly who I am too.

Scanning the other faces in the corridor I'm kinda disappointed not to recognise anyone. Ryan Lang from our gang's still in here, and there's a couple of Brumly boys who I might be able to count on to back me if things get messy. But they're all in the other dormitory block so it doesn't exactly help me none right now. But at least there's only three of 'em that seem like they're looking for trouble. And I reckon I can put up a good enough fight to hold them off until the dozy guards notice what's going on and put a stop to it.

"Listen, Ange. I gotta go. Tell Ma I'm fine, and try not to let her upset you, yeah?"

Don't hear no more though, the dial tone replacing her voice as my time runs out.

Cracking my knuckles I turn and grin at the three boys standing close behind me.

"What's up, Benny?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. "You lost or something?"

The middle one of the three is Benny Douglas, who fancies himself as something special, thinks he's a real hard man. And I reckon he's the only one I really need to worry about. The other two are pretty scrawny looking, but I've run into Douglas before, back when Tim had that falling out with Tiber Street. So I'm pretty sure he ain't interested in a fair fight.

"Nah, Shepard. Just here to set a few ground rules, make sure you understand what's what. Before you start getting ideas above your station. I'm in charge here. So you and your sorry excuse for a gang don't count for shit in here."

Turns out I can't come up with anything smart to say in reply. Settle instead for swinging a punch at him, satisfied at least that I manage to get the first blow in. And even though I won't win against the three of them, I still grin to myself as his nose cracks beneath my fist and blood runs down his face.

~oOo~

October 1965

"What you got there, Shepard?" Douglas smirks as he grabs the sheet of paper out of my hand, turning it over and reading the signature. "Angel? Don't tell me some girl is stupid enough to want to write to a loser like you."

"Fuck off, Douglas." I lurch to grab the paper back, desperate to finish reading it, to find out all she's got to say. It's something bad, about Tim, but I haven't got far enough into it to find out exactly what's gone wrong. And I sure as hell don't want that Tiber street asshole to have read it before me.

He jerks the paper back, holds it up high over his head. And he's got a couple inches on me, so it's just out of my reach. "What's it worth? Or maybe we should all read it?"

"Grow up, asshole, she's my kid sister."

Douglas smirks at me. "Sister, girlfriend, probably the same thing with the inbreds you hang with."

Douglas starts up laughing, his buddies joining in with him, gives me the edge I need to launch myself at him and snatch the crumpled page back from between his fingers. I quickly scrunch it into a ball, shove it deep in my jeans pocket. Out of sight, but safe. And then I swing at him.

Pretty sure Tim would be proud of me right now, yet another of his nuggets of wisdom about reformatory popping into my mind.

...don't ever back away from a fight. You don't need anyone thinking you're an easy target. Fight them enough and they'll soon move on to someone else...

Don't seem to be working yet with Douglas though. Seems like every other day he's trying to start something with me. But I ain't giving up. Not yet. Because if it worked for Tim then it'll work for me too. Least I hope it will. Because what if Tim did alright because he's, well, Tim and not me. Shaking myself I try to ignore my self-doubt along with the throbbing in my already-bruised ribs and throw another punch at Douglas.

By the time the guards separate us this time my knuckles are split and bleeding, my jaw is aching and my left eye is swollen half-shut. But at least Douglas looks as bad—if not maybe a bit worse—than I do.

Don't risk looking at my letter again until late afternoon. I'm sat on my bunk, just got out of that boring as hell school room where I don't have the first clue what the woman is talking about as she makes us read page after page as she talks and talks and no one listens. No one says anything because no one is gonna bother to answer any of her questions—and there's a guard sat in the corner of the room to make sure none of us give her any lip, give us a thrashing if we do. Got five minutes before we have to head down the canteen for dinner and it should be enough time. Start at the beginning again.

Curly,

Thought I'd write this because I'm not sure when they'll let you call home again. And anyway I don't want to tell you on the phone. 'Cause I'd probably only start crying and then you'd laugh at me. Don't want you thinking I'm a baby or nothing. But everything's gone wrong and I don't know what to do.

This time it's really bad. Tim's gone, Curly. For maybe three years.

Ma won't barely get out of bed since they sent him away. Think the last time she got dressed was when I made her go down the courthouse Thursday so we would know what was happening and ever since she's been taking even more of her pills than normal.

Three years. Tim must be mad as all hell. I let the page rest down on my lap and pick at the scabs on my left knuckles. Guess they must be sending him to County, on account of the fact he's eighteen, almost nineteen now. Wonder what they sent him down for.

Me and Ma was sat there in the court room, while the judge read out his sentence. Ma was wailing and sobbing, had a hell of a job trying to get her home again on the bus, 'cause Harry wouldn't drive us. Said he wasn't taking no time out of work for Tim and losing money, 'cause Tim deserves whatever he got on account of being just like dad. I told him to shut his trap and for a second I thought he was going to slap me. Only Ma started up yelling at him too, threw a plate at his head, so I guess I had a narrow escape. And really, with how it turned out I'm glad he wasn't there in the courthouse because he wouldn't have had nothing good to say about Tim if he was.

Wish Angela would get to the damn point. Don't much care about hearing about our stepdad, I'm already well aware that he's a jerk. Just want to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on with Tim. Find myself wishing for the first time ever that I'd paid more attention in school. 'Cause I can read all right. It ain't that I can't. Only I'm not the fastest. Not like Curtis, always sat there with his nose in a book. Or Tim. Tim who does a good impression of being some dumb punk but is probably the smartest guy I know, and I'm not saying that 'cause he's my brother. Although maybe if he's in as much trouble as Angela is saying then he isn't so clever after all.

The judge said he was making an example of him, that he was getting tough on crime. They said Tim shot someone, some store clerk. But that's all bull, 'cause Tim didn't have a gun, did he?

Anyway. They're jailing him, Curly. Three years. At McAlester.

Shit. Shit. Shit. County would be bad enough but McAlester's a whole 'nother ballgame. Everybody knows it.

How am I going to manage for five more months without you both? Ma's losing it. Worse I can remember ever. Worse even than when Tim was in the hospital that time. And what if Tim's not alright? These soc bitches in my English class were talking on how they read in the paper that people get stabbed and hurt all the time in the state pen. And I know they were just trying to get at me, but what if it's true and something bad does happen to him?

The bell rings and a guard barks out some instructions to us. But I don't move, not yet. Not when there's only a couple lines left for me to read.

So I know it ain't cool or nothing Curly, but please don't get yourself in no more trouble while you're there. Hell, if Dallas Winston can get out early on a good behaviour then I'm pretty sure you could if you tried. Ma's always so much better when you're here. Come home soon.

Angel

"Hey, Shepard! Wake up!" The weasel-faced guard grabs me by the scruff of my shirt, yanks me to my feet. I try to shrug him off, just manage to resist the temptation to shove him away. Could take him easily, have fought bigger guys plenty times before. But then that'd only mean some punishment. And that sure as hell won't help me get out of here.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Pushing Angela's letter back in my pocket I fall into the line, automatically file through the corridors until somehow I end up in the mess hall, my tin tray of food untouched in front of me as my mind races, turning everything over and over as I try to make sense of everything Angela's told me.

How in hell did Tim wind up in there? Must be another set up, 'cause there's no way he'd shoot someone, is there? Dumb fucking idiot, thinking he was invincible, untouchable.

I should've let Tim take the rap for turning over that liquor store instead of taking the blame. 'Cause if I had then he'd be on a short stretch in county jail, not locked up in McAlester for three years. And I'd be at home so Angela wouldn't be left coping with Ma on her own.

So maybe it's all my fault and this is what I get for thinking, for trying to do the right thing and make Tim proud of me, make him think I can be as useful to the gang as everyone else.

When all that's happened is I've managed to screw everything up. Again.


A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this - please let me know what you think :)