Thirteen

"Do we have to? Ain't like we've got anything useful to say." I lean back in the seat of the Curtis truck, fold my arms and try not to look at the imposing square stone building across the street. That place isn't exactly where I want to spend my Saturday afternoon. Knew I should've gone looking for the guys instead of heading back to Curtis's place with him this morning. Maybe it's not too late; maybe I should make my excuses and leave Pony to it.

"Yeah, Darry," Pony says, suddenly looking about as keen as me. "What're we gonna say anyway? Ain't like we were there when it happened, is it?"

Pony's eldest brother shrugs, sighs. "Look, you think I want to go in there, either? But we already talked about this. You told me that the cop at the diner said they want to talk to all you kids who worked there. And it'll look better for the both of you if you go talk to them. You really want them turning up at your house, knocking on your door, causing a scene and upsetting your mother, Curly?"

Jesus, no. I hadn't thought of that. Ma doesn't need any more trouble or worry. Not right now. "Course not. Just, I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"So go in there, tell 'em the truth and get it over with. Tell them that you don't know nothing." Darrel rubs at his forehead, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and fixes us both with a questioning stare. His eyes are icy, hard. Like he's trying to see inside my head, read my mind. Haven't ever noticed it before, but as he sits here questioning us, Darrel reminds me a whole lot of Tim, and it's all I can do to keep myself from squirming in my seat. "I mean you don't, do you? If there's anything you need to tell me, Pony, then spit it out. Before we get inside."

Pony nudges me in the shoulder and points at the truck door, gesturing for me to open it, all the while still glaring at his brother. "Why d'you always have to think the worst of me, Darry? Bet you wouldn't be asking Soda shit like that if the fire had been at the DX 'stead of The Dingo."

"Jesus, Pone," Darrel mutters, the catch of his door popping open as he speaks. "Quit acting like a brat. I ain't thinking that. Just I don't reckon we need any more surprises right now, do you?"

Pony rolls his eyes, sneers at his brother. "And we don't need you to come in, do we Curly?"

And glory but this is all I need. I'm on edge enough about having to talk to the fuzz, without Pony dragging me in the middle of this shit with his brother. Especially when I think maybe Darry has a point. Tim would've clipped me round the ear by now if I'd talked to him that way. I let my shoulders raise and fall in a half-hearted shrug.

"What?" Pony snaps. "You're not seriously taking his side?"

"Course not." I know I should be backing my buddy, but really, isn't agreeing with Darry looking out for him? "Only. Well... Maybe it'd be better for us if we got some kinda responsible adult with us? So the cops don't try nothing."

"Yeah, right. Can't imagine Tim being here, following you around like some old woman, like he doesn't trust you." Pony slams the truck door, drops his cigarette to the sidewalk and grinds it out beneath his heel. Starts to walk away from me.

Swallowing, I ignore the uneasy, sick feeling growing in my gut. The thought that every other time I've ever set foot in here, I've ended up being locked up—either a night in the cells, to 'teach me a lesson' or even worse, heading to the reformatory. How Pony's wrong. Tim would be here if he could. If I needed him. Like he was the last time. Even if no one else would believe my brother would ever do something like that. Offering to confess because we both knew neither of us had been within half a mile of that liquor store that night. How I should've let him instead of trying to act like some hero. How he might be here if I had just let him—

Darry Curtis claps me on the shoulder, brings me back to my senses. "Come on, Curly, how about you quit daydreaming and we can get this over with, yeah?"

~oOo~

"So you boys were both working at The Dingo last night?" The stocky detective, Evans, smiles at us across the table. Friendlier than the last time I met him. The time he got me sent to reformatory. Again. Here's hoping he's not looking for a repeat of that. Tell myself to quit worrying, 'cause he wouldn't be talking to the pair of us together if he was. It's just giving him a statement. A statement of nothing, 'cause I sure as hell ain't dumb enough to bring up seeing those Tiber Street losers last night.

I can't see Darrel, tucked back in the corner of the room. So I settle for taking a sideways glance at Pony. Hoping he might take the lead being as he's the one who always thinks of the right thing to say, can charm the teachers at school easy enough. But Pony isn't speaking. His hands are gripping the edge of the chair beneath his knees as his left leg bounces up and down. Guess it's up to me then.

"Yeah. We were on the late. Left around half an hour after closing. Once we'd got the kitchen straight, ready for the breakfast shift."

"Okay. And Mr, um—" Evans glances down at the file in front of him, lifts a sheet of paper like he's checking a detail, then lets it drop back onto the table. "Mr Hernandez—Ricky—was there when you left?"

"Yeah. He was counting up the takings out of the register. In the corner booth at the back. Same as he does every night."

"Right." Evans looks me up and down, his face twisting into a sneer. "So what exactly is it that a loser like you does for Ricky then, Shepard? Scrub floors? Clean the restrooms?"

"I work the grill." I tilt my head a little towards Pony. "Curtis washes dishes."

"The grill, Shepard?" Evans raises an eyebrow. Scribbles something down on the paper in front of him. "You switch it off right before you leave? Didn't leave the gas on or nothing?"

"Course not! I ain't stupid!" I exclaim before I can stop myself. Annoyed that I've let him get to me, that I've let him know it too.

The detective laughs. "Reckon that's a matter of opinion. From what I hear, the word on the street is that you're nothing more than a second rate imitation of that no-good brother of yours. Only without the brains to keep yourself out of half as much trouble as he somehow managed. Though I guess it all caught up with him in the end. How's he doing, by the way?" Evans grins at me, carries on talking. "And you. In and out the reformatory what is it three, four times now? You're never going to be nothing more than a lousy hood. So I'll ask you again. You sure you turned it off right?"

I stare down at the worn out tip of my boot, count to ten over and over, hope my voice sounds calmer this time. More even. "I turned it off. I know I did."

He ignores me, carries on with his accusations. "You sure Ricky hadn't worked out how useless you are and decided he didn't want to keep you around no more? That instead of going quietly you figured you'd teach him a lesson? Or perhaps all that cash was too much temptation. I mean, Friday's got to be real busy down there; guy must be raking in the dough. Maybe you figured you'd had enough of being told what to do and that you'd take the easy option and help yourself to his money? You've got form for fighting. And stealing—what was it the last time, robbing a liquor store?" He stands, rests his palms on the table as he looms forwards over us. "So perhaps Mr Curtis there and his brother ought to go on home, let you and me have a proper conversation about this, Shepard?"

My blood runs cold, as I realise what he's getting at. That having Darry Curtis in here isn't helping me one little bit. Because this isn't just some friendly chat, a chance for us to give our statements like that old beat cop had told Pony when he'd arrived at the burnt out shell of the diner this morning. That he's looking at me like I'm his number one suspect. Or more likely I'm the easy option to pin this crap on—save him the effort of getting up off of his fat ass and looking any further for the real jerks that've left Ricky half-beaten to death and his business ruined.

"I didn't do anything wrong. Ricky's a good guy. I need that job. So why would I do that? Screw it all up?" I plead. "First I heard about any this shit was when Curtis showed up this morning. I swear I never—"

"You can tell me your excuses in a minute, Shepard." He turns in his chair, gestures to the uniform cop who's been loitering in the doorway. "Jones, you take Curtis and his brother out of here. They can go."

Darrel opens his mouth as if to say something to the cop, then shuts it again. Moves towards the door before abruptly turning towards me. "You need me to call anyone, Curly?"

"Nah." I make myself grin at him. "I'll be fine, ain't no point worrying Ma over nothing. I'll see y'all later."

He nods. "Okay. We'll wait out in the truck, give you a ride home."

And then he's up on his feet, glancing at his brother. But Pony doesn't move; don't even show any sign that he's heard any of this. His head is down, his shoulders hunched as he carries on frowning at the floor.

"Come on, kid, move it." The uniform goes to grab him by the arm, but Pony shrugs him off, leans forward in his seat and stares right at the detective.

"No, Sir. Curly didn't do nothing wrong. I always double check the grill before I leave too. One of Ricky's rules. We have to make sure everything's ship-shape in the kitchens before we go home. And besides. Curly and me weren't the last people to see Ricky last night."

"Oh yeah? Well if it wasn't you two, then who the hell was it?"

There was a car, pulled into the lot. Just as we got to the sidewalk. "

"Sure there was. Can't you come up with anything better than that?"

"My brother is not a liar." Darrel interjects, arms folded as he steps a little closer to Evans, his bulky frame dominating the room.

"Maybe not. But maybe he feels some misguided loyalty to this... friend of his. Maybe he's worried he'll get dragged into trouble with him. Whatever. Suppose you're going to tell me that you couldn't quite tell the make and model, though. That you couldn't see who it was. 'Cause some bullshit fairy tale won't get your buddy off of the hook. So how about you beat it? Leave me to do my job."

Pony still doesn't budge though. Instead he folds his arms and stands his ground, looks the detective right in the eye. "No. I saw it. Was a black Ford, 'bout ten years old, the back left window had been put in. Like someone had put a brick through it. There were two guys. Seen them talking to Ricky before. Looked a hell of a lot like Fitzgerald and one of his Tiber Street cronies to me."

~oOo~

"Jesus, Curtis, what in hell were you thinking?" I demand, jabbing him in the chest as he steps onto the sidewalk alongside his brother's truck.

"Yeah, you're welcome, Shepard."

"Seriously? You think grassing on Tiber Street is a good call? Reckon I'd rather risk another spell in reformatory than have to watch my back looking out for them assholes."

"Look, all Fitzgerald and the others have to say is that it wasn't them. That they were someplace else with their broads or something and the cops won't have a case. And I had to say something; otherwise you'd be in one of the cells by now." Pony grins. "It ain't a big deal."

"No big deal? You won't be saying that when they've got you corned in some dark alley, all set on beating seven shades of shit outta you. Or when that cop puts you on the stand as witness. And here I was thinking you were supposed to be the smart one."

"Hate to say it, Pony, but I reckon Curly might have a point. Fitzgerald ain't gonna let it lie if he thinks you two are anywhere near this." Darrel turns the key in the ignition so the old truck rumbles back into life, revs the engine a little. "Now are you two getting in so we can get out of here, or what?"

A/N: So sorry it's taken me so long to update – hopefully there's still a few of you reading? Huge thanks if you are, you're all awesome :)