Thanks for all the reviews…! "Please sir, can I have some more?"

Tee hee!

XXXX

i wish i'd see your face below

i wish i'd hear you whispering low

but you don't live downtown no more

and everything must come and go

again the sun was never called

and darkness spreads over the snow

like ancient bruises

i'm awake and feel the ache...

but i wish i'd see a field below...

--Regina Spektor

XXXX

"Curtis, yell if you see anyone coming."

"Sure," I say to Curly Shepard. "I think I can do that." From my vantage point on his car's hood, I stretch and lay back. I stare at the blinking stars and yawn.

I am tired but at least I am out of the house. I met up with Curly earlier in the evening and having nothing better to do, agreed to tag along with him.

Currently, the JD that he is is trying to break into a junkyard and steal random auto parts. "Son-of-a-bitch," he swears under his breath. He sticks a pick into the padlock and twists violently.

I sit up and raise an eyebrow. "You know Curly," I tell him, "All you have to do to open that padlock is bust it with your crowbar there." Amused, I glance over at the pile of tools and weapons he has pulled from his trunk. Darry would shit a brick if he saw this, I think.

"Uh huh," he mumbles absentmindedly, still fiddling with the latch. The simple solution goes right through that thick skull of his.

He has not heard me. I smile and try something. "So Curly…did you hear that the state's coming soon? I'll probably be taken to a boy's home…"

Nothing.

"…and end up just like you. Some juvie hood."

Again nothing.

"You're pretty dumb Curly. In fact, I don't really like anything about you. Your car's stupid, your sister's stupid. Tim's the only bright one in your whole family, and even that's a stretch."

A beat and then he turns toward me. "What'd you say about my car?"

I utter a laugh and slide off his hood, scooping up the crowbar. "Give me that." I stick the head of the crowbar under the shackle, position it so the fulcrum has enough power and snap it open with a pop. Somewhat surprised, I let both the crowbar and the padlock drop to the ground. I am lucky it was such a shitty lock.

Impressed, Curly fixes his eyes on me. "Curtis, some nice handiwork you got there."

I raise my hands out to the side. "Yeah, well don't say I never did nothin' for you."

XXXXX

Curly has managed to scavenge mismatched auto parts. I don't have the heart to tell him it's going to look pretty stupid when he pulls up in his black 1960 Ford with a white 1955 Dodge tailfin, a too-small taillight and a motorcycle side mirror.

Steve and Soda have taught me well.

I was right when I said it before: the kid's an idiot.

"I better get home," I tell him as we walk down the sidewalk, restaurants and bars passing us by. It's getting late and I don't want give my brother's any more grief.

"It's only 10:30 man," Curly sneers. "Let's go get stoned or something."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Right. Do what you want. I gotta get-"

I halt at the edge of the parking lot. Curly watches me strangely as I back up. I want to make sure I have just seen what I think I have. There - through the window of Sadie's Bar- is Donald Parker.

He is sitting in a corner booth, the side of his head resting in a propped hand. Parker takes a drink, swirls his glass and then takes another. Three empty glasses adorn the table.

As I stare at him through the glass, my reflection is shocked, furious. "So. He's drinking," I announce aloud. My eyes narrow to slits.

"Good idea," Curly agrees.

"Not for him," I snap.

"Whatever," Curly mutters. I barely notice when he leaves.

I wait outside that bar an hour. In that time span, Parker has had four more drinks. His apology, his letter, means nothing. Nothing to him and nothing to me.

He is a liar and there is no way in hell I'm letting him drive. It's not happening again.

Around 11:30, the bar door smashes open and Parker steps out, swaying and singing softly. It is an old Frank Sinatra song, one my father knew well. He passes me by without seeing and approaches his old busted, dented car.

And then I nearly faint.

Is that the car? The car?

"God help me," I whisper, trying to muster energy. Parker gives me that energy when he pulls out a flask and takes a long drink. I shake my head. "Glory."

I step out of the shadows as he fumbles with his car keys. I am not sure what I'm going to do. Grab the keys and toss them down the gutter? He can find them in the morning when he's sober. It's really not my problem.

"You can't drive, man."

Blearily, he tries to focus. He doesn't know who I am. "What's youse talking about? I'm dine and fandy."

My head begins to throb and I hold out my palm. "Just let me have your keys."

Donald Parker grins goofily. "You gonna fight me for 'em?" He dangles the keys in front of my face.

I cock my head and muse that idea. It may not be a bad idea to get a punch or two in. But I dismiss it. That won't help anything. Besides, my hand still hurts from punching that locker.

"No," I say with annoyance. "I'm going to do this." I reach out and simply take the keys; after all they are right in front of me.

Instead of being irritated, Parker's smile broadens. Well, at least he's a happy drunk.

"Relax, kid. Come on. Have a drink." Before I can jump out of the way, Parker waves his flask at me, whiskey spraying everywhere. He cackles maniacally.

"You're an idiot!" I yell. I am soaked in alcohol. Angered, I shake his keys at him. "Do me a favor. Take these and go drive off a-"

Bright lights cloud my vision. It takes a few moments to realize that I am not falling to the ground. These are…flashlights?

Shit, an internal voice says, as two cops stride toward us. Each one has jumped out of a cruiser. One fat, one tall. Kinda like Laurel and Hardy, I think with amusement despite the situation.

"We got a problem here, sir?" The fat cop asks, shining his light over at Parker.

Parker nods enthusiastically. "Yup, yessir. This kid stole my keys." He smiles at me as if he has just done me a favor. "Stole 'em right out of my hands. I can't get home. Not at all. Just done and left me here."

"What?" I sputter at the exact same time the fat cop asks, "That true sonny?" The flashlight swings back to me and I squint against the harsh glare.

The flashlight shakes at me again. The younger, much thinner partner steps up and snaps, "Well, answer the question grease."

I stand there, amazed and disgusted. Socy cops. This works out real great for me. I haven't liked cops for a long time. Especially since…Dally.

"No. This guy's drunk. I didn't want him to drive. I took his keys. I was gonna give 'em back," I explain lamely. I shut my eyes; even I wouldn't buy this.

The fat cops takes off his hat and scratches his head. "Wellup, let's get you down to the station. Sort out this situation."

I am relieved when Parker and I are loaded into separate cruisers. Because if I did have to ride with him, I would have killed him.

XXXX

The clock above me now reads 1 am.

So much for not worrying my brothers tonight. I have been at the station for 20 minutes, filled out some paper work and waited for the fuzz to do a background check.

Since then, the young cop has taken a obedient Donald Parker to the back of the station to 'cool off'.

I sit in an open cell on a hard cot and think of Dallas. It's a sad thing to associate the cooler with an old friend but it also relieves me. In a strange way.

"Am I under arrest?" I ask the deserted police station. The lack of security amuses me and I briefly contemplate just walking out. My right leg bounces up and down anxiously. The last thing I want to do is spend the night here.

The fat cop, whose name I now know to be Officer Byrd, walks out from around the corner of the hallway. "Ponyboy Curtis, you're clean," he announces, staring at my background check.

I stare at my hands. I want a smoke badly, but unfortunately on the drive over I smoked an entire – my last - pack.

Byrd grunts and waddles across to his desk, tossing the papers on top. He jerks his thumb towards the back of the room. "We're gonna let him sleep it off for the night. As for you…" his beady black eyes focus on me, "I don't like to see young boys drinking…"

But I wasn't! I want to yell. Yet, I don't say anything. It will be as useless as arguing with Darry.

"…you was trying to do a decent thing tonight, so I'll cut you some slack. At least one of youse was smart enough not to drive."

"My record thanks you," I say dryly, if not a bit unwisely. I stand up; ready to beat it out of here.

Byrd glares at me a moment. "Kiddo, you're not getting off that easily." He nods at the pay phone hanging on the wall. "Give your parents ring. Explain this to them."

"I get one phone call?" I have always wanted to say this and now it seems I have the perfect chance.

"You get one phone call."

XXXX

Loud footsteps pound down the hallway. I roll off the cot and watch the closed door. I am impressed; it's a 15-minute drive and he has made it here in five. I never knew you cared, I think sarcastically.

The door booms open.

"Ponyboy Curtis!" the yell echoes around the police station.

Byrd looks up and smiles at me.

I grin slyly and bound up to greet my maker. "Fancy meetin' you here."

"Kid, what the hell you doing calling me this late? I swear I am gonna break your damned neck-"

"This your brother?" Byrd cuts in.

"Sure is."

Suddenly, Steve has no words. Shocked, he stares at me with wide eyes. I nudge him with my elbow. Play along, my grin says.

"I take it this is your guardian?" Byrd asks again. After my phone call, I filled him in on the passing of my parents; he filled me in on the particulars of evidence and why Mr. Parker won't be held in the morning. Needless to say, I still dislike cops immensely. Not as much as doctors…but it's a close tie.

Again, Steve says nothing but I continue to grin dopily so Byrd continues, taking this as consent. "Mr. Curtis, your brother was taken in and questioned earlier this evening for harassment and under-age intoxication…"

"You what?" Steve hisses at me and grabs my arm. Obviously, he's not in the greatest of moods since I have called his house and woken him up. I had managed to get past his irate father and then, only when did I say the word 'arrested' did Steve perk up.

Byrd smirks, apparently thinking I will be receiving prompt and accurate punishment. Luckily, the laugh is on him. Steve can't do shit.

Well…strike that. He can tell Darry. But somehow, I think he won't. In a way, he is in a much worse predicament than I am.

Huffing and puffing, Byrd rubs his large belly. "We have, however, decided not to charge him with anything…considering the circumstances." Then Byrd winks at me. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and sigh instead. Jesus, this guy could be a stand-in for Keystone Kops.

"Isn't that great, Darry?" I intone sarcastically. Byrd doesn't catch this but Steve does. His head whips around so fast I swear I hear bones popping.

"Just swell," Steve mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair. I think it is the first time I have ever seen it without grease. It is dark and long, almost straw-like. "Can we go?" he snaps at Office Byrd. "I need to get my brother…" Again, he jerks my arm, "…home."

Surprised by Steve's impatient outburst, Byrd stutters, "Of course, sir. I take it you have a lot to discuss. Please, just sign him out." Byrd holds up a pen and a log.

As he takes the pen, Steve hesitates. I know he is thinking of Soda. And evidence is a bitch. But after a second, he scribbles his name down, smacks his hands on my shoulders and shoves me out of the station. "Let's go," he says between clenched teeth.

Almost giddy from my crazy night, I stroll down the steps carelessly. "Glory, Steve. Let me tell you, you need to take lessons from Darry. If Darry was ever that rude, well then I definitely wouldn't be-"

A hard smack on the back of my head stops this thought. "What in the hell were you thinking Ponyboy? Drinking? You smell like a goddamned keg! Do you know what your brothers would do to me if they knew I was here? I mean, shit. Jesus Christ!"

"You didn't have to come," I mutter, rubbing my head sullenly. "You coulda let me rot."

He nods. "I should have. Why didn't you call Two-Bit? Leave me outta this mess." Steve's voice his harder than his eyes but all of a sudden I sigh, embarrassed.

Truth delivers.

A warm flush spreads across my cheeks. "I couldn't remember his number," I whisper. Steve clears his throat and shifts awkwardly.

I stare at him, Steve stares at me, as we stand on the steps of the police station. "Ponyboy, please tell me – just so I know what I get my ass chewed out for later - what did happen tonight?"

My voice is soft and hoarse as I say: "Parker happened. He was going to drive and I was trying to stop him. As simple and as stupid as that."

"He's in there?" Steve's face clouds over and he turns to look back at the ancient building.

"Yep. Sleepin' off a hangover. That is until next time."

Steve can't come up with a witty retort for that one, so he settles for hooking his thumbs around his belt loops and heading for his truck, which is parked next to a fire hyrdrant. I follow.

"I thought you didn't need my help, smart ass." Steve lights a smoke and climbs into the driver's seat.

"Steve," I say, tugging my door shut, "of course I needed your help. It involved hubcaps didn't it?"

XXXX

I tried to edit as best as I can tonight…so be gentle.