Chapter 12—The Interrogation…

Laine silently complied and nestled closer to the young man. His heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, its rhythm comforting amidst all that had happened over the past week. She almost didn't want to break the perfection of the moment. "Dallas?"

"Hmm…?" He was sleepy, his eyes were shut and his tone was distant.

"I think I killed him."

         One pale blue eye opened and glanced curiously at her.  Dallas cracked an amused grin.  "Don't tell me you saw that new movie Two-bit was talkin' bout…"

         Laine blinked.  Then opened her mouth to say something, but the young man interrupted.  "I hear the doll's a looker."

         "Dallas, I ain't—"

         "An' that she goes 'n kills off this other…"  Dally paused at the distressed look on the girl's face, "What's wrong, doll?"

         Laine took a deep breath.  "I think…I killed him."

         Dally cracked another grin, this one wavering slightly as he decided to play along.  "Who?"

         Laine glanced at him, taking in the slight stubble forming on his chin and the pixie-like curve of his nose.  "That greaser."

         Dallas' features glistened with alarm, "Who?"

         Laine feigned an amused grin, "That greaser…from the movie."

         Dally's eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, but he dismissed his doubts in favor of sleep.  He was awfully tied, and those days without Laine had been murder on his mind.  He didn't thin k he could very well stand sustaining any more conversation.  "Go to bed, will ya doll?"

         Laine bit her lip and nodded.  Yes.  Sleep would be good.  Across from her, she could already see Dally furrowing himself beneath the cotton sheets of the bed.  He was gazing at her absently, seemingly fighting drooping eyelids in an effort to look at her.  "C'mon, Laine."

         Letting out a shaky breath, Laine felt her lip begin to quiver.  She was shivering, and her breathing was coming in shallow gasps.  Damn.  Rising hastily, she stood off the bed and swallowed thickly, chocking back the bile that rose up her throat.  She stumbled in the process, vision darkening for a second, and found herself crashing headfirst into a nearby wall. 

         Her little tirade through the room had Dally snapping up from bed and by her side in a matter of seconds.  He caught her just as she was trying unsuccessfully to crawl towards the window.  "Hey, hey…"

         His fingertips were soft against her shoulder, and he pulled her effortlessly back into him.  She relished the feeling of his body molded against hers…of his arms coming so comfortably about her shoulders—of his breath landing uninhibitedly at the nape of her neck.  "Don't…Dallas I have to—"

         "Shh…"

         A smooth kiss at the base of her hairline.

         "Dally—I'm not…"

         Another one, this one placed teasingly behind her earlobe.  Behind it, not on it…She hates it when I kiss her on it…

         Tears were flowing down her cheeks; product of his gentle touch, of his considerate nature…of his ever-increasing care for her.  'This ain't ju' about sex, and you know it, doll."

         "No, it ain't…"

         "Let go…please?"

         A hesitant pause before strong arms brought her body crushingly close.  No. 

         "I need you close to me."

         She was startled by the confession.  Startled, and pushed beyond tears.  Not now…please not…

         She could feel, her back to his chest, the soft, continuous pumping of his heart.  Thump…Thump…Thump… He was alive.  Breathing.  Thinking.  Seeing.  Needing

         "Dallas…Not, not now."

         Laine felt him stiffen slightly, then relax.  And then, she felt the soft vibrations of his laughter against her back.  He pressed his forehead against the crook of her neck, and chanced a slight peck of his lips against her shoulder.  She could feel him smiling.  Smiling

         "I need you close to me."  It was a pleading now.  Not so much a statement as a request for something. 

         Lane could feel her eyelids falling closed.  She was giving up.  Getting lost in the fantasy, in the intoxicating aura that was Dallas.  Maybe when she awoke she'd be in a different reality.  There'd have been no Socs and Greasers, no Tony, no Johnny…no Mark.

         And, overwhelmed, she turned around in Dallas' arms and hid her face against his neck.  He didn't hear her soft whimpering as she pulled him closer still, and didn't realize how much she needed him

         It was an almost desperate embrace, legs tangled together, hearts beating in unison…two bodies intertwined –one in tears, and the other feeling to the point of them because of it. 

         And, in the silence,  the soft words went almost unheard. 

I love you…

( * * * )

         "Dallas Winston?  You mean Dally?"

         A stark nod was all the notice Tony received for his inquiry.  Then, swallowing thickly, "He's been missin''?"

         "Yes.  Since," there was a slight pause as the police officer glanced back towards his clipboard.  Tony took the opportunity to glance nervously around the bar.  "Since last Thursday."

         Tony's eyebrows furrowed together.  "I—I'm sorry, I have no idea what you want me to say—"

         "Any information—things we need to know?"

         "Well…it would help if I knew what'd happe—"

         "Mark Dannielson was found murdered in a back alley.  Apparently Dallas was the only one linked to his possible murder.  They say his girlfriend," again, a hasty glance to the clipboard, "Laine, was a possible reason."

         "Killed?"  Dally had never struck Tony as being a murderer.

         Another nod.  "Yes.  This past Wednesday.  He was shot."

         "That's impossible."

         The officer quirked an interested eyebrow, using his teeth to uncap a pen, leaving it ready to jot down any new information. "How so?"

         Tony glanced quickly around the bar, trying to remember his conversation with Laine.  Only bits and pieces flitted back to him, however.  "He was here the night before—him and his girl.  He kept gripin' about his gun.  Said he'd gotten in a fight and had it pulled off him."

         "Oh yeah?"

         Tony glared at the officer's disbelieving tone.  "Yeah.  It ain't the first time it happened.  Besides, Dally's gun ain't loaded.  Never is.  It's  a bluff, and everyone on Greaser territory knows it.  It's only to keep safe from them Socs."

         "You say he was here?"  The Officer seemed to totally disregard everything else Tony had said in favor of that one fact. 

         "Yep.  I remember all my clients.  His girlfriend took one helluva drink."

         To Officer waved this fact away dismissively.  "Anyone else seen him here—to confirm?"

         Tony thought quickly.  "Shepard."

         "Shepard?"

         Tony nodded curtly.  "Yeah.  Tim Shepard."

         Offering Tony a similar nod, the Officer quickly exited, heading towards the address Tony had hastily written down for him.  Then, sure he was out of sight, Tony skid towards the phone on the far-side of the bar, grateful that Tim had never paid any attention to him and had scribbled his phone number haphazardly on one of the booths.   He dialed quickly, breath hitching slightly when no one picked up, and let out a relived sigh when the phone was finally picked up.  "Hello?  Tim?  It's Tony.  Listen, the fuzz is headin' over now, its 'bout…"

( * * * )

         That damn bastard.  Dallas was and had always been, present or not, the cause of all of Tim's problems.  It hadn't been enough for the tow-head to disappear without word or farewell, but now he had to let this, of all things, befall them.  Tim knew, though, for a fact, that Dally wasn't Mark's murderer.  Dallas wasn't the type, for starters, and for another, he'd been with him that night until very late. 

         Thankfully, Tony'd been smart enough to head off the fuzz early on.  That would make things easier.  Now all Tim had to do was play along with all Tony had said.  Play along and pretend he wasn't that good a friend of Dally.  Otherwise the fuzz wouldn't buy a word of it.  Glory, Dal.  I always said you were a bad omen…"

         A few  minutes later, Tim rushed down the steps from his room towards the front door, telling Angela and Curly to make themselves scarce (he'd already informed them of what they had to say should they be interrogated).  That was a good thing about his siblings.  They sure as hell listened to him if the situation warranted for it. 

         "Mornin'."

         "G'Morning, Mr. Shepard.  May we come in?"

         Tim glowered.  That was a stupid question if he'd ever heard one.  Why bother asking if they were going to anyway?  And if he didn't agree, then they'd sure as hell think he was hiding Dallas somewhere.  Tim shrugged in response, but held open the door.

         "I presume you know why we're here?"

         Tim rolled his eyes and played the part of the incompetent brother.  "Yeah.  My mom told me you'd be comin'.  So what's Curly failin' in school this semester?"

         "Excuse me?"

         "Ain't y'all those people that visit every few weeks tellin' use how Curly's actin' up?"

         "No," one of the two officers, the one who'd remained quiet, meticulously adjusted his tie and avoided Tim's eye, "We're here on business dealing with Dallas Winston."

         "Dally?  What's that bastard up to, now/"

         "He's being charged with murder."

Tim didn't like the tone of that Officer.  The one who'd been fixing his damn tie.  Which had been, on another note, immaculate anyway.  There was something malevolent about him.  Something not quite right. 

Tim feigned a look of incredulity.  "Dally?  Please…that bastard would sooner step on an ant than kill someone.  He's a pansy if I've ever seen one."

Dally'd kill me if he ever heard that…

"We understand," the other officer spoke up, "that it was his gun that discharged the bullet that killed Mark Dannielson."

Tim scoffed.  "Dally's gun?  That pansy ain't even carry a loaded gun—that's how much of a sad bastard he was.  He carried this unloaded gun to scare off anyone that would try an' jump 'im.  Sad if I ever heard of it.  Everyone knows that.  An' Mark's another one.  He always steals from everyone.  Wouldn't surprise me if he tried to pull somethin' off someone an' got clipped because of it.  Besides, Dally ain't have that gun for ages.  Some grease took it off him when he was drunk off his ass."

"And his girlfriend?"  there was that other cop, again.  The one that gave Tim a bad vibe.  A bad feeling of foreboding.

Tim clucked his tongue.  "Dally ain't have no girlfriend.  Him and Laine broke up a while back.  She got it in her head that he was with another broad an' just got up an' left.  He's been with Sylvia sometimes…but that doll's just for pleasure."

"He broke up with her?"  His voice was even eerie, Tim noticed.

"Ain't you hear me right?  Said she left 'im."

"Do you know much about her?"

"Ev'ryone knows 'bout, Sylvia.  She does good work."

And I bet Sylvia'd kill me too if she ever heard that…

"Not about her, about the other one.  Laine."

"Not much.  I only know her through Dally.  An' half the time they weren't even together.  She'd Johnny's cousin, though."

"Johnny?"

Tim nodded.  "Yeah.  Cade.  Johnny Cade.  She's his cousin.  He ain't know much 'bout her either, though.  She's that kind of family that you know you have but ain't really know."

"Would you mind giving us the address?"

Tim shook his head, "The kid ain't got one.  He might be over by the Curtis' house, though"

"The Curtises?"

Tim nodded.  He was trying to throw as much information out about everyone in the neighborhood as he could.  It was partly to get the fuzz confused, and partly to give them ideas for people to interrogate.  At least, trustworthy people to interrogate.  He figured that Darryl's house was a good a place as any to get a whole load of people to testify for Dally's favor.  If there was one good attribute all Greaser's shared, it was their loyalty.  They covered for one another with all the fidelity of a family. 

"Yeah.  They live over two down after Prospect---"

( * * * )

Ponyboy nodded as he hung up the phone.  "Listen up y'all.  That was Tim.  Says the fuzz are out there lookin' for Dal.   We're supposed to shake 'em off.  Dally has a gun, but it ain't loaded—never is.  He lost his gun a few days ago—one or two weeks ago, we're not sure.  Laine and him weren't together.  And…uh, accordin' to what Tim and Tony've said, Dally's a wuss if they've ever seen one."  Pony paused at the snickering that erupted over the room.  "Glory y'all, pay attention."

"Got it."

"Soda and Steve—head out towards the DX, I'll give 'em ya're address when they come.  Johnny, go an' call Darry to tell 'im.  Two-Bit, you jus'…don't do nothing stupid.  An', Johnny?"

Deep black eyes locked on soulful green.  "You don't know Laine at all,, okay?"

A wry grin crossed the greaser's face.  "That won't be hard to pretend."

Ponyboy offered his best friend a consoling smile.  "Yeah."

Glory, Dallas…where the hell are you?

( * * * )

"All talk, no action."

Steve nodded at Soda's assertion, throwing down an oil-smeared rag and making his way over to where Soda was.  He took in the sight of the two police officers as he did so, and growled deep in his throat.  If those damned cops had been around to do their job at Two-Bit's party, then none of what was happening would've been taking place.  He knew about Laine's raping only because Tim had thought it wise to tell them, just in case they had to formulate a lie to cover up for the fact.  He'd been struck dumb when he'd heard the news—coming from Pony's own riling and revolted lips.  He hadn't known what to think.  That was something…that was something he couldn't imagine happening to anyone, much less Laine.

Deciding it was time to put his two cents in, he added, "He's a good fighter—can hold his own in a fight…but—well, he ain't exactly someone I'd be afraid of.  And as for Mark…well—it was about time, I'd say.  He's stolen something form all of us."

Sodapop grinned, pushing strawberry colored bangs out of his face, "Stole my algebra notebook back in 9th grade."

         "Asshole.  He took my gym shoes that year, too."

         "R'member when Butch had to walk home in his socks!?"

         "Glory, Soda—Mark hit the spot there."

         The two greasers broke out in unrestrained laugher.  They were only mildly aware of the police's exit, but as soon as the two were out of earshot, they locked eyes. 

         What have you gotten yourself into, now…

Ahem…This was supposed to be the last chapter, but things would've been too long otherwise.  Erm, stay tuned for what happens with Sodapop, Darry, and Ponyboy (remember, there was a whole foster-home case).  I have everything planned for the next few chapters.  Reviews!