Chapter 13
Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing!
Old reviewer: Where are you?!
I wasn't sure about this chapter, and almost started all over, and completely wiped the idea of them dressing like Socs, but work has been hard and I thought "well, why not throw in something different." Let's try it. What do you think?
(Soda)
"No…no...nope. Nope. I'm out. No way in hell am I dressing like a Soc." Steve had his hands up and was shaking his head back and forth. "Nope. I will do a lot of things. But I won't do that."
"You got a better idea Steve-O?" Tim leaned against the hood of the night-black Charger, dragging on a cigarette. Despite the grease in his hair, a couple of rings of curls had bounced against his forehead when he had bent his head to light the smoke. He regarded Steve coolly, almost asking to be challenged.
The air was still moist from the rain that had come through. I shivered, though whether it was from the cool breeze against my skin or the murderous look in Tim's eye I wasn't sure.
"Yeah." Steve bravely stuck out his chin as he answered, "You sneak in there like the slinking bastard you are, drag him out, and we knife the little shit in the parking lot."
We froze. No one talks to Tim like that. Curly hissed as his eyes darted from one to the other and I realized he was holding his breath, waiting for Steve's inevitable death at the hands of his big brother.
Tim's face cracked into a smile, his scar pulling so that the left side of his mouth was slightly lower than the right. A low rumble escaped his throat as his shoulders shook. His eyes glinted with amusement.
I think his laugh was scarier than if he had rounded the car and socked Steve in the nose.
Curly's eyes were as big as saucers.
I think maybe it was the first time he'd ever heard Tim laugh.
I know it was the first time any of us had heard the laugh. And right then, I was hoping it was the last time I ever heard it. It just wasn't right.
Steve was looking at each one of us. "Come on, I can't believe I'm the only one thinking that this is the worst idea…" He trailed off when I stepped towards him.
"Come on, Steve. I don't like it either. You think I want to look like one of those assholes? Huh? But this guy…he is hard to get to. Tim's been on him for weeks. Weeks. And this is the only time we've been able to get close to him. We got to look the part. Please, Steve." I grabbed his elbow and pulled him close to me like I was talking to Pony.
I knew as soon as his eyes met mine that he'd do it.
Tim rolled his eyes and rounded the car, angling his body to miss the overflowing trashcans that were scattered through the dank alley. He used a file and jimmied the trunk a little, and I knew for sure this car wasn't acquired the legal way. But I trusted Tim to keep us safe from the fuzz. He was too smart and careful to put us in danger.
He handed bundles to each of us. "Put these on."
Darry eyed the clothes warily, holding them like they were going to burn his fingertips.
Steve scowled.
Curly bent forward to smell the ones that were handed to him. His face scrunched up and he gagged.
"Holy shit, Tim, these smell like English Leather…I'll suffocate. This damn alley smells better."
"Shut the hell up, Curly, and put them on." Tim's voice had lost its humor. It was low, threatening, like the hiss of a tom cat's yowl.
"Where'd you get these, Tim?" Darry interrupted, eyeing his bundle warily. He held the shirt out in front of him. There were grass stains on the elbows.
Tim smirked. "I acquired them, Darry. From some Socs that suddenly didn't want them so much anymore. Figured you all would show up sooner or later, so I brought along some extras."
I was buttoning the multicolored madras shirt over my own tight t-shirt. Curly was right. It smelled like English Leather. And swanky old tobacco. I glanced over my shoulder to be sure no one but the gang was hanging around before changing my jeans for the khaki twill pants that Tim had acquired.
I talked a big game, but I had to suppress a shudder as I pulled the expensive cloth over my limbs.
"You look funny." Darry grabbed my shirt. Even in the low light I could see his eyes sparkling. His shoulders were shaking as he tried to suppress a laugh, but it escaped gutturally, so loud it echoed off the brick walls. He laughed until he doubled over, wheezing, and his face turned red.
I looked at my reflection in the car's windows, trying to ignore the snickering from the guys behind me. There wasn't much light, but there was enough to see that I really did look funny. Thank God Two Bit wasn't here to see this.
The others slowly changed their own clothes, eyeing each other as they finished.
And suddenly Tim was doubled over laughing.
Then we were all laughing and pointing at each other.
A bunch of hoods dressed like Socs.
"Oh shit," I sobered up suddenly. "What about our hair? They'll see us coming a mile away."
Tim pulled a comb out and handed it to me. "Ain't nothing we can do about the grease now, but you know how the Socs like to wear theirs. Make it look as much like that as you can. It don't have to be perfect. It just has to get you in and fool people long enough that they don't suspect you as greasers."
"He's going to know me anyway, Tim" I voiced my worries.
"No one else will though. Just a bunch of rowdy Socs leaving with their friend. No witnesses."
I suddenly wondered if Tim had more than a jumping in mind. Something more…permanent. But if he did, I wasn't worried. James deserved it. I was only sorry it was Tim that came up with the idea instead of me. I wished he'd just all shut up so we could get on with it. I'd waited too long for this already. But I wouldn't say that to Tim Shepard. I'm dumb, but I ain't stupid.
Steve faced Tim. "And why the hell do I gotta look like this and you're dressed like…well, you?" His fists clenched.
Steve never did know when to keep his mouth shut.
Tim straightened, his eyes losing their amused glint, and I noticed Steve take an involuntary step back. Tim flicked out his blade, holdin' it easy at his side. Steve glanced down at the glinting metal, and I wondered if this was how Steve Randal would die. Then Tim moved his hand and traced the scar on his face with the end of his blade. "Let's just say I got a face to remember, Steve. You got a problem with that?"
I'll hand it to Steve, he didn't back down, even though I could see the fear in his eyes. "Yeah, big shot? And what about Sodapop, huh? Every girl in Tulsa knows that face."
Tim shrugged. "We will have to chance it. I'll be waiting in the car. None of the rest of you has seen this kid James. You need Soda in there. Now shut the hell up 'fore I decide we need one less greaser." He waited, making sure we were all listening. "Now, here's the plan…"
I pulled at the shirt collar, not used to wearing something that felt so…stiff. And itchy. How much starch did this boy's momma use anyway? I stopped walking for a minute and moved my hips uncomfortably, trying to loosen the tan fabric between my cheeks without sticking my fingers up there to retrieve it.
I glanced at Darry. If any one of us was actually going to pass as a Soc tonight it was him. It was kinda unsettling to see him in Soc clothes. The pale orange sweater hugged him just right and it looked like the tan pants were made for him. The white colored shirt under the sweater cut just under his jaw, making his features look sharp. It hadn't taken much for him to mold his hair back He looked like he belonged. He was athletic, intelligent, and confident. He looked like he was a kid that was going places. And I knew Two Bit was right… Darry would've been a Soc if it wasn't for us. Or at least accepted by them.
Steve walked next to him, brown coat hanging open over a sweater vest. A sweater vest. On Steve Randle. I chuckled as he did a little back and forth dance. Guess his pants were too tight too.
Curly looked miserable. Miserable. I swear to God I saw his eyes fill with tears when he looked at himself in the car windows. I've never seen a Shepard pout before, but I guess a green sports coat will do that to a greaser. He reminded me of that kid Randy that came by to see Ponyboy when he was sick.
I had to stop myself from walkin' too fast.
"Stay cool, little buddy," Darry whispered. "We'll get our chance."
But how could I stay cool when revenge was so close? I could almost feel that asshole's nose smashing beneath my fist. I wanted him to beg. To suffer like my baby brother had suffered.
We arrived late as planned, so almost all the Socs was already inside, except for a few boys sitting on their cars drinking. They ignored us so I guess our disguise was working.
The plan was simple enough. Get in. Get James. Get out.
I thought maybe we'd be underdressed for a Soc dance. But I guess it was a casual one, cause everyone was dressed like us.
No one even looked at us.
Private schools must have a lot of money to waste on frilly things, cause they'd decorated the whole gymnasium. Shiny fake stars hung from the ceiling, making little light reflections sparkle like disco balls on all the dancing kids. Streamers covered the doorways and fancy tablecloths in all kinds of colors covered the tables. There was even a live band in shiny sequined jackets and red bow ties.
We stopped on the edge of the dance floor. Steve whistled low as a girl twirled by him.
"Steve." I warned him.
"Come on, Soda. It don't hurt to look." His eyes watched her hungrily.
But I couldn't look. I bounced from foot to foot. It was time. It was finally time.
"You see him Sodapop?" I could feel Darry's breath on my neck as he leaned in close to me.
I scanned the faces.
No luck.
The faces blurred together, and I wondered if he'd even showed.
I scanned the faces again.
Curly slouched, caught himself, and straightened his shoulders.
That's when I saw him.
He was leaned against the side of the bleachers, arm raised above his head. I watched as he leaned in and whispered something to the girl standing near him. She nodded.
He looked around, grabbed her hand, and pulled her under the bleachers.
Perfect.
"There. Under the bleachers." I spoke as evenly as I could, trying to keep the anger from alerting the unsuspecting kids around me.
They couldn't see him anymore, but I pointed to the open end of the bleachers.
"There. With a girl. Blue jacket."
We didn't speak to each other. We didn't need to. We'd been in enough fights together. Curly was a new addition, but he was experienced with his own gang and knew the score.
We split, each taking a different path across the room, Darry walking through the tables, Curly skirting the punch bowl, and me and Steve cutting across the dance floor.
We met up at the edge of the bleachers, and one by one slipped underneath. Curly positioned himself in the bleacher shadows against the wall. A lookout. He'd leave this first part to us.
I stopped a minute to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting that filtered under the bleachers.
He had her pressed against the wall about halfway back, head bent to hers.
I scanned the shadows.
We were alone.
He was so intent on his girl that he didn't hear us walk up, and I was reminded of the day he caught me smoking in that hidden corner at the boys home. But there was no gang to help him now. The girl could present a problem though.
Darry moved to the far side of James and Steve slouched to my left. The girl didn't look too comfortable. She pushed lightly against his chest.
"Stop." She was whispering, whining, asking him. Though not in danger yet, she was certainly no longer comfortable with him and was starting to regret coming under the dark bleachers. "James, please." She squirmed then something, maybe our shuffling feet, suddenly made her look up. Her eyes widened when she saw me over his shoulder. She gasped at our abrupt appearance.
"Wha-?" James pulled back, catching her face and slightly shifting so he could peek around her. He stepped back, noticing first Steve then Darry. They moved as one, hooking their thumbs into their belt loops and slouching.
They may have been dressed like Socs, but they were greasers through and through.
"What? What the hell, man?" James sputtered. His head swiveled from Darry to Steve and back again.
"James." My voice was low, dangerous.
He went stiff.
For a second, he didn't move. Then he slowly turned around. The girl remained pressed against the wall, eyes wide, breathing shallow.
"Sodapop."
Anger coursed through me, and I clenched my fists against it. I was shaking with the barely contained need for blood.
Darry shifted his weight, and I saw that he was trembling.
Looking at the sneer on James' face I considered doing it here. But that wasn't the plan. Someone might hear. And there was the girl to think of.
"I think you should split, honey." I didn't look at her, but Steve stepped to the side and she bolted.
Judging from the position we'd found her in, we didn't have to worry about her running for help. Guess James should learn how to treat the ladies.
I smiled. "Time is up, James."
And Darry dropped him with a punch to the temple.
"Prick." Steve muttered.
James was awake, but barely.
Steve and Darry hoisted him between them, throwing his arms over their shoulders like they were helping out a buddy.
It went better than expected. No one even tried to stop us. I guess even private schools have seen enough drunk kids at dances that no one thought twice about a couple of kids helping their buddy outside.
Suckers.
Tim was waiting, and when we burst through the doors the rumble of the Charger and squealing tires greeted us.
Without thinking I shoved James inside. I climbed in behind him, and when he started to protest, I elbowed him the nose. I'm not going to lie, the spraying droplets of bright red blood brought me nothing but a sick delight.
I leaned in close to his ear. "You're a big man attacking an innocent kid, James. What was it, six to one?" It wasn't a question, so I didn't wait for an answer. "Remember Ponyboy, James? My baby brother? Well, this is for him."
I wanted him to feel alone, like Ponyboy was alone.
So, we took him to the vacant lot. No one in our neighborhood would call the cops, even if they heard him scream.
No one was coming to help him.
