Fourteen
September 1966
"I'll take these." I drop the handful of candy bars, a couple packets of gum and a bottle of Pepsi down on the checkout and smirk at the assistant, sweating behind the counter in the godawful store uniform. All brown polyester, orange stripes, dumb looking cap. "Looking good there, Curtis. Surprised you ain't having to fight the broads off with a stick, wearing that shit."
Ponyboy scowls at me, opens his mouth like he's gonna have a dig back at me, only some old grandma is hovering about nearby, staring at the managers special. A pyramid of cans of creamed corn. So Curtis settles on something less insulting. "Curly. So how's things? Getting your own dinner tonight?" he picks up the first of the chocolate bars, checks the price, starts punching the numbers into the cash register.
"Yeah." I grin at him. "Don't have time to go all the way home, gotta work tonight."
"Yeah?" Pony glances up. "That'll be forty seven cents. You finally find another job then?"
"Sure. Course I have. Everyone wants to hire a hood like me."
"They're hiring here. I could put in a word for you, with Mr Smithson. The store manager."
I laugh, brush away his offer. Don't need his charity. Ponyboy's been working here after school since three days after the fire, because who wouldn't want to hire Mr local-hero, the straight-A student who had his face all over the papers last year for saving them kids? Only time my name's ever likely to be in Tulsa World is in a court report. No, there's no way old man Smithson is ever gonna hire me, not when I'm pretty certain he knows I lift as much as I ever pay for in here—even if he hasn't ever been able to catch me in the act.
"Yeah, right. He don't want someone looking this much of a mess working in his store, scaring off his customers." I wave my hand at the almost-faded black eye, the cut that won't seem to heal properly on my cheekbone.
"Who you been fighting with this time?"
"Nobody."
"Bullshit. If you ain't been fighting, where d'you get the black eye?"
I shrug. "Harry. Was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"What, in your own home? How's that the wrong place?"
"Ain't no big deal."
"There's stockroom jobs, too. Out back. If you were working you wouldn't get caught up in so much shit, wouldn't give him a reason to yell at you. Works for me and Darry anyways."
Christ, that has to be the dumbest thing Curtis has said in a long while, if he thinks that brother of his is in anyway like Harry. I shouldn't have said nothing. Should've kept my mouth shut. Or told him some bull, made up some cool story about how it happened. Need to think before I open my mouth, don't need Ponyboy fucking Curtis feeling sorry for me.
"Jesus, Curtis. You sound like my mother. I'm fine. Harry don't need no reason to be mad at me. Just me breathing is enough for him when he's in a shit mood. And I don't need your help to get no lousy job either. Get it?" I slam a bunch of coins down, grab up my stuff and stalk off, but he calls me back.
"Hey, Curly. You wanna hang out later?"
"Nah. Like I said, I got stuff to do tonight. See you around, Curtis."
~oOo~
The glass breaks easy as anything, and I'm creeping in, grabbing the cash, heading out again quicker than anything.
Don't remember the last time a job went so smooth.
Reaching for a cigarette, I pat the cash that's nestling in my inside pocket, grin to myself. There's more than enough to tide me over for a couple weeks.
My head jerks round at a noise, but there's nothing. Nobody there. A scrawny cat bolts out from behind a dumpster, hissing at me as I swing a boot at it. Probably only that. It'll be my mind playing tricks on me. There's no one else in sight.
Cupping my hands around the match against the breeze, I light up, take a long drag on my cigarette. Flip up the collar of Tim's battered leather jacket. Don't do no good though. The icy winter wind still cuts through me, chills me to the bone
I've made enough for me to have a good night tonight, too. Gonna go have a beer with the guys before I go home, being as it is a Friday and it's a dead cert Ryan and Danny will be out.
Quickest way there is left, past the back the bowling alley. Yeah, a beer would be good. And a girl too. Maybe Linda'll be there, we been getting along a little better again lately. Or if not her, then perhaps that cute blonde outta my math class or—
A fist connects with my face, sends me staggering backwards. Blood trickles down my chin, warm against my skin in the cold evening air.
Footsteps echo out behind me. No effort to be quiet this time, and I'm surrounded. Quick glance over my shoulder tells me there's two of 'em there. Plus the one in front. And nowhere left for me to run. No one likely to see anything, either, even though we're only a couple yards away from the busy street.
"That all you got?" I smirk at the guy in front of me, despite the fact my head is hurting like all hell. And that he got the jump on me. Figure yakking at him'll buy me a few seconds, give me a chance to even the odds back in my favour a little. Say the first thing that pops into my head. Even if it isn't smart or clever. "You fight like a girl, Benny, even my kid sister can hit harder than that."
He don't bother to dignify my schoolyard insults with a response. Just throws another punch at me. Only this time I see it coming. 'Cause this time I'm waiting for it, not taken unawares by him appearing outta nowhere.
Dodging his blow, I manage to get him good with a right hook in return. Watch as he wobbles back, then as he's steadying himself, I swing at him again, knock him on his ass.
Not that it'll make any difference. I know I've got no chance. Not against all of them. But it's worth it, to see that smug grin of his disappear for a half-second.
"Get up off the damn floor, kid." A fourth figure lazily pushes himself away from the wall out of the darkness. Benny's brother, Ron. Drags Benny up off the ground by the scruff of his neck, stares at me. Guess he's finally looking to get even. "So this is the one you told me about? The one that worked at The Dingo?"
Benny nods. "Yep, that's him."
So much for there being no comeback. Had let myself get lulled into some false sense of security this past few months when we hadn't had no shit from Tiber Street. Persuaded myself that they must've assumed it was Ricky who'd dropped Ron and his buddy Fitzgerald in it. Heard the rumours Fitzgerald had shouldered all the blame just to keep Ron out of the shit and out of jail. And with Ricky out of state, recuperating at his sister's, I'd decided that was it. Me and Curtis were safe.
Ron turns his full attention on me, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. "So you're the one who sold us out. Told the cops. Got my second locked up for six fucking months."
He punches me in the gut, knocks the wind clear outta my lungs. Couldn't answer him even if I had anything worth saying.
"What would that brother of yours say, Shepard," Ron continues, "if he knew you were a grass? Reckon I know. Reckon Tim would tell you that you deserve everything your gonna get. Ain't no one on this side of town should be talking to the cops. Not if they know what's good for them."
Tim. If Tim was here he'd be yelling at me to move. To quit feeling sorry for myself and stand the fuck up. Though if he was here I wouldn't be in this damn mess. He'd take 'em on no trouble. Only he's not here. And it ain't likely anyone else will magically show up and help me out either. So it's all down to me.
"I ain't no fucking snitch," I spit out the words, launch myself at him, despite knowing there's no way on earth I can beat four guys. Don't stop me trying though, might as well do some damage to them, if I can. Not go down too easy. But it's barely more than a couple of minutes before I'm on the floor, curling my body round into a ball as I try to cradle my head in my hands. All in the vain hope it's gonna help protect me as they take turns to kick me, over and over, with hard leather boots. In the gut, the back, my head, ribs. Again and again. Pain rips through me so bad that it feels like my flesh is burning and I can't distinguish one blow from another no more.
"Should've kept your big mouth shut, Shepard. So you make sure to run along and tell all your little friends—no one screws with The Tiber Street Tigers and gets to walk away."
Despite Ron's words, it don't feel like they're slowing down. Hell maybe they're not planning on stopping, and this is it. Maybe my time is finally up and the last thing I ever see'll be Benny Douglas' ugly fucking mug grinning down at me as he kicks me in the head another time.
Bright lights sweep over me. Darkness swallows me.
A/N: Just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, following and favouriting! Sorry it's been so long since I last updated, hopefully some of you are still reading! Hope you liked it :)