Sunny every day. Johnny and Dally were starting to love the weather,
the soft warm air and sun every day. Johnny was already deeply tanned but
it was natural. Dally always figured he was Italian or Indian or Gypsy or
something. But now Dallas' porcelin white skin was acquiring a bit of a
tan.
Johnny knew that they'd stay at least a week more because Bill pissed Dally off. Plus they had to wait for Pony.
"C'mon, Bill, let's go out to the bars," Dally said. Bill looked at him with his worried eyes.
"Yeah, I guess. Johnny, you want to come?" Johnny was watching T.V. and glanced up at his name.
"Look at him, Bill. He looks 14. No one would serve him,"
Dally dug in his pocket and pulled out some money, "Here, kid, go buy some groceries while we're gone,"
"Groceries?"
"Yeah, milk and bread and shit, alright? We'll see you later." And they left. Johnny sighed. Groceries.
It was dark out. He hauled himself up. He'd better get to the store before it closed.
He figured he'd cut across a field that would get him to the store quicker. It was a decision he came to regret.
He heard the dirt bikes before he saw them and they circled him, surrounded him. One by one the five boys hopped off the bikes. Johnny glanced around wildly, his breath ragged gasps, and he ran. They caught him easily.
"Hey, Daniel, where are you going, huh?" Daniel?
They were tall and blond with ruddy arrogant faces. One held the back of his shirt. One of them kicked him in the stomach and Johnny doubled over.
"That'll teach you to mess with Ali," one of them said. Johnny couldn't breath and he wasn't really listening to what they were saying.
He was remembering the last time this had happened in Oklahoma. The socs had almost killed him. Gave him the scar on his cheek, broke his ribs, made him piss blood for a week. He was unconscious and nearly unrecognizable when Soda found him. He'd cried when they found him, as much out of relief as fear.
Since that day he has carried the six inch switchblade in his back pocket. It won't happen again.
The boys were laughing that mean laughter, vicious sound. The socs in Oklahoma sound that way, too. They were punching him and kicking him and talking about Ali and Daniel. Their ring leader, a boy nearly as tall and blond as Dallas, was named Johnny, too. Wasn't that nice?
Johnny managed to slip his hand to his back pocket and he slid out his knife. He knew how to hold it so no one could see it, not until he touched the button that would release the blade.
And he did release it and drove it right up into that blond Johnny's stomach.
* * *
"Johnny?" Dallas said this in a quieter tone than usual.
Johnny sat on Bill's couch, his knees pulled up to his chest. The T.V. wasn't on. Neither were any lights. Dally saw him with the light from outside, the street lamps. He flipped the light switch.
Johnny's knees were up and his arms wrapped around them and he rocked slightly. Dally had never seen that look on his face.
"Johnny?" he said again and shook him gently. Johnny flinched and looked over at Dally and Bill.
"I killed him," he said slowly, starring straight ahead again, "I killed that boy,"
"What boy?" Bill said.
"They were beating me up, these five socs on dirt bikes and I, I had to." Johnny looked at Dally and ignored Bill.
"Good for you," Dally said.
"It's just, I don't know what to do," Johnny said, trembling, still clutching the bloody switchblade.
"The cops 'ill be here soon," Dally said matter of factly.
"Where can he go?" he said to Bill.
"Well, I know of an abandoned hippie church up in the redwoods," Bill said.
"O.K."
* * *
Blond Johnny's friends ran, they all ran when Johnny stabbed him.
"Oh my God, what are we gonna do?"
"Call the cops, and an ambulance..."
Blond Johnny was dead when the ambulance arrived and the cops questioned the remaining four. Dutch, the thick shouldered one with curly hair died a garish yellow, did most of the talking.
"I know who did it," They were sitting in an interview room at the police station, their faces white and stricken.
"Who?" The cop said calmly, using a tone he knew wouldn't alarm the boys.
"His name is Daniel LaRusso, he just moved here,"
"Were you there?"
"Yeah," Dutch said, and the others nodded.
The cop jotted down the information. Daniel LaRusso, 16 years old, Receda. Murder weapon, a switchblade. Consider suspect armed and dangerous.
* * *
Daniel was in a good mood. Despite those karate jerks who wouldn't get off his case, he was in a good mood.
The Japanese maintenance man fixed his bike better than new. And more than that, Daniel didn't quite know how to explain it. He showed him how to clip those bonsai trees, he was teaching him.
His mother put the tree Mr. Myagi had given her on the table, a centerpiece.
"Doesn't it look nice there, Daniel?"
"Sure, Ma," She smiled at him with a little sadness. She knew this move was rough on him and she also knew she couldn't really help him.
There was a knock at the door, sudden and loud and authoritative. His mother opened it.
"Yes?" Daniel saw two cops, their hair cropped short, clean shaven, serious.
"Mrs.LaRusso?" One of them said, glancing at a little notepad with her name on it.
"Yes?" His mother sounded polite but Daniel heard the worry deep in her voice.
"Is your son, Daniel LaRusso, here?" At his name Daniel felt cold.
Johnny knew that they'd stay at least a week more because Bill pissed Dally off. Plus they had to wait for Pony.
"C'mon, Bill, let's go out to the bars," Dally said. Bill looked at him with his worried eyes.
"Yeah, I guess. Johnny, you want to come?" Johnny was watching T.V. and glanced up at his name.
"Look at him, Bill. He looks 14. No one would serve him,"
Dally dug in his pocket and pulled out some money, "Here, kid, go buy some groceries while we're gone,"
"Groceries?"
"Yeah, milk and bread and shit, alright? We'll see you later." And they left. Johnny sighed. Groceries.
It was dark out. He hauled himself up. He'd better get to the store before it closed.
He figured he'd cut across a field that would get him to the store quicker. It was a decision he came to regret.
He heard the dirt bikes before he saw them and they circled him, surrounded him. One by one the five boys hopped off the bikes. Johnny glanced around wildly, his breath ragged gasps, and he ran. They caught him easily.
"Hey, Daniel, where are you going, huh?" Daniel?
They were tall and blond with ruddy arrogant faces. One held the back of his shirt. One of them kicked him in the stomach and Johnny doubled over.
"That'll teach you to mess with Ali," one of them said. Johnny couldn't breath and he wasn't really listening to what they were saying.
He was remembering the last time this had happened in Oklahoma. The socs had almost killed him. Gave him the scar on his cheek, broke his ribs, made him piss blood for a week. He was unconscious and nearly unrecognizable when Soda found him. He'd cried when they found him, as much out of relief as fear.
Since that day he has carried the six inch switchblade in his back pocket. It won't happen again.
The boys were laughing that mean laughter, vicious sound. The socs in Oklahoma sound that way, too. They were punching him and kicking him and talking about Ali and Daniel. Their ring leader, a boy nearly as tall and blond as Dallas, was named Johnny, too. Wasn't that nice?
Johnny managed to slip his hand to his back pocket and he slid out his knife. He knew how to hold it so no one could see it, not until he touched the button that would release the blade.
And he did release it and drove it right up into that blond Johnny's stomach.
* * *
"Johnny?" Dallas said this in a quieter tone than usual.
Johnny sat on Bill's couch, his knees pulled up to his chest. The T.V. wasn't on. Neither were any lights. Dally saw him with the light from outside, the street lamps. He flipped the light switch.
Johnny's knees were up and his arms wrapped around them and he rocked slightly. Dally had never seen that look on his face.
"Johnny?" he said again and shook him gently. Johnny flinched and looked over at Dally and Bill.
"I killed him," he said slowly, starring straight ahead again, "I killed that boy,"
"What boy?" Bill said.
"They were beating me up, these five socs on dirt bikes and I, I had to." Johnny looked at Dally and ignored Bill.
"Good for you," Dally said.
"It's just, I don't know what to do," Johnny said, trembling, still clutching the bloody switchblade.
"The cops 'ill be here soon," Dally said matter of factly.
"Where can he go?" he said to Bill.
"Well, I know of an abandoned hippie church up in the redwoods," Bill said.
"O.K."
* * *
Blond Johnny's friends ran, they all ran when Johnny stabbed him.
"Oh my God, what are we gonna do?"
"Call the cops, and an ambulance..."
Blond Johnny was dead when the ambulance arrived and the cops questioned the remaining four. Dutch, the thick shouldered one with curly hair died a garish yellow, did most of the talking.
"I know who did it," They were sitting in an interview room at the police station, their faces white and stricken.
"Who?" The cop said calmly, using a tone he knew wouldn't alarm the boys.
"His name is Daniel LaRusso, he just moved here,"
"Were you there?"
"Yeah," Dutch said, and the others nodded.
The cop jotted down the information. Daniel LaRusso, 16 years old, Receda. Murder weapon, a switchblade. Consider suspect armed and dangerous.
* * *
Daniel was in a good mood. Despite those karate jerks who wouldn't get off his case, he was in a good mood.
The Japanese maintenance man fixed his bike better than new. And more than that, Daniel didn't quite know how to explain it. He showed him how to clip those bonsai trees, he was teaching him.
His mother put the tree Mr. Myagi had given her on the table, a centerpiece.
"Doesn't it look nice there, Daniel?"
"Sure, Ma," She smiled at him with a little sadness. She knew this move was rough on him and she also knew she couldn't really help him.
There was a knock at the door, sudden and loud and authoritative. His mother opened it.
"Yes?" Daniel saw two cops, their hair cropped short, clean shaven, serious.
"Mrs.LaRusso?" One of them said, glancing at a little notepad with her name on it.
"Yes?" His mother sounded polite but Daniel heard the worry deep in her voice.
"Is your son, Daniel LaRusso, here?" At his name Daniel felt cold.