Ok, well, I didn't promise this was going anywhere, but I have been prodded along, so here's a nice long chapter for all of you. Plus, my Internet got unplugged, so I figured why not? That'll show my dad. I so need my own place…

Dedication: to Zevie – the biggest push on this. Don't go thinking this will get you stuff, now ;)

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns the Outsiders and I own everything else.

On with the show!

When I left work, I had a lot on my mind to think about.

First, there was the most obvious thing – the grease burn on my arm. I hadn't thought it was anything to worry over, but it was bitchin' at me like there was no tomorrow. Kinda reminded me of my stepmother. She bitched at me for everything; enjoying that she could turn the small things into something huge. Her kids were apparently fucking angels in comparison to me. I was often quick to remind her that Curly was in and out of the reformatory, while Tim was always coming home with blood on his knuckles and a warrant on his heels, and Angela was spreadin' her legs for every guy she met. Last time I'd gotten that far, Evelina'd walked off with my blood under her nails, hollering for my Pop to "come and teach his fuckin' kid some manners." Pop had taken one look at the scratches along my cheek, threw a vase in my direction, before screaming at Evelina for touchin' his kid. Don't get me wrong, Pop was always up for a good beating, but they had rules. He didn't touch her kids, and she didn't touch me. Yeah, parents of the year…

But like I said, that wasn't the only thing on my mind. You see, Switchblade Sam had come to see me today. I should have just followed through with my instincts and kicked him outta the diner, no matter how much trouble that would put me in with Chet. He had money – the first one of my babysitters I had made pay for his meal. Yeah, I said babysitter. Chet…he was a busy guy. He could give me an assignment, but he just couldn't be there to make sure I went through with it. This one was a choice I had to make, but he was still going to make sure someone encouraged me along. Right now, I didn't know whether I was angrier with Chet or Switch. Chet made excuses and was never around, but sending Switch? He was only two years older than me and I'd been around a hell of a lot longer than he had. Who was he to tell me what to do? I honestly was mad enough to tell the whole River King gang to go to hell.

I huffed, putting the whole afternoon out of mind. Instead, I turned left instead of right, and headed towards Tim's clubhouse to see what the hell Calligher could possibly want. I had nothing to do with the Shepard gang and I aimed to keep it that way. Fuck Chet and his newest babysitter. And when I saw Calligher, I was going to tell him something similar.

Tim had a clubhouse not two blocks from our house. It used to be part of this little strip mall once upon a time. Now it was a pretty good party spot, apparently. Liquor and drugs floated around and music was always playing, but that was later on. Right now the place was just getting ready for business. More than likely, Calligher would be the only one there and I would have only one of Shepard's gang to deal with. Well, it could have been worse.

I walked in and spied Booger sitting along the bar. With an inward sigh, I corrected myself. Things could always get worse.

"Calligher," I called and waited.

A minute later Calligher poked his head out of the back room. His black hair had some dust in it, a sure sign he was looking for something in that storage room. He looked a little surprised to see me.

"I really didn't expect you to show," he said by way of greeting.

"What do you want?" I asked, not wanting to dick around.

"Nice to see you, too. Care for a drink? I have a couple hits hanging around, if you're inclined?"

I growled and Calligher shrugged in an 'I tried' fashion, before sitting down and motioning I should as well. The table was one of three in the main room. It didn't sit right anymore and we wouldn't have sat there if I had taken the dink. As it was, Calligher looked slanted as I rested my chin on both of my fists, elbows on the table.

"Well?" I asked, impatient with this.

"I was going to ask you to do me a favor," he started and I glared at him.

"I won't tell you again. I'm not dealing any shit for you, you got that?" I asked.

A couple years ago, Tim had started to seriously deal out drugs. Calligher, always thinking he was the brains of the pair, suggested that there would be a bigger market up north where the serious hoods were. Thing was, they were either covered, or they were flat out cut off. But Tim was game to try and went to the only person they could think of who knew the north side intimately. I'd told them both where they could go and I'd thought they'd dropped it. That was until Chet told me otherwise. You know, if you wanted to get technical, it was Calligher and his dumb ideas that had really got me into this mess. He should have never suggested toeing in on Chet's territory.

"I'm well aware of that," he answered with a tone of strained patience.

"Then why the hell are you asking me?"

"I haven't asked you anything yet, kid," he sighed. "Listen, I got a cousin who needs a full time job. You think you can manage that at your diner?"

"Depends what you think your cousin can do," I answered.

"She's leggy. She's pulled the waitress bit off before; worked with animals for a long time, too, so she's pretty good with people."

"How's she related to you?" I baited, watching as the line in his jaw tensed.

"Danny, I'm asking this as a favor. She needs the job. Can you handle it or not?"

He sounded like a weak imitation of Chet right then, and I was filled with that same resentment I had been battling with since Switchblade had walked into my diner.

"I can handle anything and everything you throw at me."

Calligher nodded and we sat like that for a few minutes. He finally sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking at me like I was something worth studying.

"You really had a bad day."

The statement was thrown right out there and I felt a smile escape my defenses. A laugh followed and I nodded. I was going to get it something awful later, in more ways than one, and I knew it. And hey, that was pretty damn funny to me for some reason. I blamed the stress of the day as Calligher smiled a little. He got up and grabbed a bottle off the bar and brought it back. Whiskey. Now, I could barely stomach hard liquor, but I didn't mind whiskey as much.

"If you give me that bottle, I will get your sister whatever job she wants."

"Cousin, and you can't have the whole thing - you'll make yourself sick. That, or you'll get it all over that burn and wish you were dead. Looks like a third degree."

"The fryer and I got into a tussle," I shrugged as he handed me three fingers worth. "I won."

"No, offense, but I'll believe you after I get the fryer's side of the story."

I was about to call him a smart ass when Tim walked in the door, Curly in tow. He glanced over at me before going up to the bar. Tim, on the other hand, made his way over like he meant business. Calligher sat up a little more and offered that easy going smile, but Tim was having none of it.

"When are you going home?" he demanded.

"When I feel like it," I answered, taking another drink from Calligher. "Why?"

Tim gave me a look that plainly said he wanted to hit me, and I wondered what the hell had crawled up his ass. At 21, Tim Shepard acted older than anyone else I knew. I supposed he had to be one scary son of a bitch to keep that bunch of hoods in line. But you'd think he'd smile once in a while. He did smile, don't get me wrong, but never when I was in the thick of things. He didn't like me and I didn't like him, and it was something we'd known since I was thirteen and shoved into his life.

"Your pop is looking for you."

Shit.

"Thanks for the heads up," I replied.

"That wasn't a warning." Tim gave me a long look and I glared at him.

What Tim wasn't saying was that Pop was even more irritable than usual because of the TV being out of commission. He was saying that something had to be done before our parents killed each other. If he thought I was stupid enough to go home and give Pop something to beat, then he was very much mistaken. I wasn't afraid to take a beating, but I wasn't going to the gallows because Tim Fucking Shepard ordered me there.

With that thought in mind, I left the clubhouse and headed for Buck's.

Now, Buck Merrill was an odd guy, but he was smart enough to know he wasn't smart enough to say anything. So a lot of illegal dealings went down over at his place and you could pretty much hide anything or anyone you pleased there. I always showed up for a little under aged drinking. Tonight, though, I was just looking for a good game of pool. I'd been hustling it since I was ten and I enjoyed it. There was no better…well, there was fighting, but pool was the best way to blow off steam at the moment.

Since it was suppertime, there weren't many people at Buck's and the first six games I played were solos. I was lining up my last shot – the elusive eight ball – when someone put their hand on it and had the nerve to pick it off the table. I glanced up and sighed.

"What the hell do you want?"

"The boss said to tag you 'til you came up with an answer," Switch supplied with a shrug.

"Chet knows I will send him an answer when I'm good and ready," I growled back. "So set the ball down and back away."

"C'mon, kid. You think I wanna be followin' you all over town?"

"You think I'll let you?" I asked, leaning on my pool stick.

"I think you won' have much say in the matter." Switch put the rack on the table and started racking up the balls, setting up a game I hadn't invited him to join.

"We'll see."

Switch glanced up at me and shrugged slightly. He was just taller than me, with dark hair and grey eyes. You could see a least two prison tattoos on his arms and I wondered if he was too stupid to know when to quit, or if he liked the punishment. As far as I knew, Switch had been up the river at least three times, and he wasn't even 21 yet. Tim didn't even have that under his belt. The only hood in the area who'd had worse was Dallas Winston. He'd been up the river before he hit his teens. That had to be illegal. I'd ask Wills the next time I got hauled in.

"Tell you what, kid. You don' want me here, and I sure as shit don' want to be followin' you around. So I'll play you for it."

"For what, exactly?"

"You win and I'll go on home and leave you t' figure out things on your own. I win and ya make up your mind – tonight."

I looked him over, wondering if he was any good. I had never played pool with the guy, so I had no idea if he was a hustler or someone who generally knew enough not to be hustled. I considered the options as Switch finished racking up the balls.

I was good. I'd learned from all the other members of the gang. But did I want to make a deal?

"C'mon, kid. This's the best deal you're gonna get."

I sighed and leaned over the table, already knowing I was going to regret this somewhere down the line. What can I say? Maybe I was glutton for punishment, too.

"Alright."

"Good."

Switch smirked as I broke. Three balls went in right off the bat – two solids and a stripe. Moving to the other end of the table, I sunk the two and looked over at Switch.

"Solids."

He nodded and I lined up another shot and another, until I finally couldn't make another shot without sinking his balls. Scratching, I nodded him to the table and backed away. In a matter of moments, all the balls were sunk, except for the two solids I had left when I had come to that impasse. Damn.

"Let's get a drink, kid," he suggested. "I'll give you a couple minutes to really think 'bout it."

We sat down at the bar and Buck brought a couple beers over before we could ask. He wandered off down the bar and I sighed. I really hated who I was right then. Every other guy in the bar was just an average Joe. Was it too much to ask just to have an average life?

"Run it past me again, Switch," I ordered, clutching my beer.

"All Chet wants you t' do is get close to Shepard, keep an eye on him, and report anythin' he's doing to Chet."

"Tim will know something's up."

"Chet's sure you'll find somethin' to settle him."

I ran a hand through my hair and took a swig from the bottle I was nursing. Did Switchblade have any idea what placating Tim would involve? He'd spent nearly five years alternately ignoring me or trying to get me into the fold. To be honest, he'd given up on the latter of the two a long time ago.

"Yeah, right."

"Listen, kid, you can turn it down and walk away – no penalties, as usual. The thing is, if Shepard keeps up the way he is, Chet's gonna be the one hauled in by the cops for the traffickin' going on."

"The fuzz have never touched him for it before," I pointed out

"Yeah, that's 'cause Chet ain't stupid. He makes sure that everythin' goin' on is kept under the radar. He gets respect and keeps control. You get a new dealer in there, shaking things up, and not fisting the control, and the cops are goin' t' be pretty suspicious. When they come snooping around, it'll be up north, not down here."

I took a swig of the beer, letting that sink in. Switch didn't think I had it quite down.

"If you just sit by, your brother either goes away or becomes a murderer, probably both. All because Tim Shepard is tryin' to push his limits in this town."

What he was basically asking me to do was choose between my families. Trouble was, he already knew who I would pick.

"What about Tim, though?"

"What about him?"

"He's making waves enough to warrant being watched."

Switch looked at me carefully and I looked right back at him.

"Chet said this guy is related to you the same way he is. He knows how you feel. I doubt he would think of using ya if he planned to do more than teach him and his gang a lesson."

I hoped to hell that would be the case.

"All you have t' do is make nice with your stepbrother and keep an eye on things for us." Switch nudged my clenched hand with his bottle. "We scare him into leavin' our turf alone, and Chet avoids jail time."

"Then what?"

"Then business as usual."

"No, I meant about me. Tim is not stupid. He's going to tie this all back to his only north side connection. Then what?"

"Then I suggest you run like hell before you get caught, boy."

I gaped at Switch and he gave me a straight look in return. That's when his face broke into a smile and he chuckled.

"Shit kid, you look like someone killed your dog."

I glared at him and took a long drink from my bottle, tapping the bar when it was empty in prompt for a new one. Buck handed me another and Switch threw him a look that basically told him to screw off somewhere else. Buck sent me a look I was too drained to respond to, before he disappeared down the bar. I glared at Switch again and took a fresh pull off my bottle.

"Jesus, kid. You think Chet fuckin' Cameron of all people would not have thought about that? Jesus Christ. That was pretty much the first thing he planned out when Riggs suggested he use you."

Denny Riggs was the second in command of the Kings gang. He babysat me, until he got shot one morning and decided he was going to prove he was the toughest guy on the north side or die trying. You had to admire the man. He was tough, but he and Chet were still a pair of criminal geniuses.

"He said that if'in your step brother catches on, you're t' come right back home and he'll make the excuses."

"And if I get caught before then?"

"You sure are a negative kid. That won' happen. Chet won' let it happen to his little brother."

Yeah, shows what he knew…


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See ya in the funny papers!

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