He hadn't done anything, had he?
"Why?" The politeness was leaving her voice and her protective mother instincts were kicking in.
"We have a warrant for his arrest. Is he here?" The voice of the cop was deadly serious. Daniel sat in disbelief. What was this shit?
"What did he do?" His mother's New Jersey accent was getting thicker, as it did when she was scared, upset, or mad. Right now she was all three.
"Ma'am, is he here?" She looked torn, not wanting to let them in, not knowing how to stop them.
"Yes," she said heavily, and swung the door wide.
"Daniel LaRusso?" the younger of the two questioned him. Daniel was beginning to feel that dreamy fear.
"Yeah?"
Then it was quick.
"Stand up! Hands in the air!" They both pointed guns at him. He did what they said.
"Turn around, hands on the wall!" He did this, too, catching a glimpse of his mother's worried face, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his body, a taste like pennies in his mouth.
He felt them patting him down like in the movies, then his arms were roughly twisted behind his back and he was handcuffed.
"You're being placed under arrest for murder," One of the cops said, and read him the Miranda Rights, just like a movie. On the way to the police station Daniel was too stunned to be angry.
In a tiny interrogation room the two cops stared at him and he stared back with an expression both confused and sullen.
"Where did you go after school?" One cop was kind of smiley, the other mean. Good cop, bad cop. Daniel rolled his eyes.
"Just around,"
"Just around?" the mean one said.
"Yeah, like to the beach, and the mall, around,"
"Was anyone with you?"
"No,"
The room had cement walls painted a strange light green. The table they sat at took up most of the room.
"Look, I didn't kill anyone~"
"We have witnesses that say you did," Smiley cop said this, looking down at his notes.
"Well, so what? People can say anything! You're just going to believe whatever they say?" Daniel looked quickly from one cop to the other.
"We have a dead kid in the field between the school and the building where you live," The mean cop said this, his voice edged with steel, "and four witnesses who say you did it,"
Daniel hung his head. They had switched the handcuffs so his wrists were cuffed in front of him, and he stared at the cuffs, pulled his wrists against them until the metal dug into his flesh.
* * *
Lucille LaRusso, meanwhile, was going out of her mind.
She paced the apartment, caught between screaming and crying.
"What am I gonna do?" she questioned herself softly, running a hand through her curly hair. It wasn't a question of whether Daniel had done it, of course he hadn't. She recalled the calm way he was clipping at the bonsai tree tonight at Mr. Myagi's. To think that he had killed someone shortly before that was absurd.
She paced, she sat, she paced again. She knew something was going on with him, all the black eyes and cuts, his irritability. But whatever the problem was he wouldn't solve it by killing someone.
She sat in the middle of the couch and buried her head in her hands, wanting to cry but her eyes stayed bone dry.
* * *
Ponyboy Curtis had been hitchhiking for days. He was still fuming at Darry. The letter Dally had left on the table was crumbled in his hand. But he was getting closer.
It seemed to him that Soda could do anything, it didn't matter. But not him, no. He couldn't be late, he couldn't forget anything, he couldn't do anything wrong without Darry blowing up at him.
The sun was high overhead, it just beat down on him and he plodded on, sticking his thumb out everytime a car went by. He was mad at Johnny, too. He knew he shouldn't really be mad at him but he was anyway. How dare Johnny not be there when he needed him.
A car slowed and then stopped. Ponyboy trotted over, the letter firmly gripped in his fist.
"Hey, need a ride?" A pretty woman in her thirties, dirty blonde hair with honey gold highlights. She reminded him of his mother.
"Yeah,"
"Get in," She smiled a wide smile at him and he got in her car. He could smell the fake pine of the air freshener and the lighter scent of her perfume.
"Are you going to Receda?" he said, a slight edge of desperation in his voice. He was tired of going from car to car.
"Through there. I can drop you there," Ponyboy sighed in relief and shook a cigarette from his pack. He looked at the woman before he lit it, eyebrows raised, and she nodded her permission for him to smoke.
* * *
Johnny didn't understand why Dally wouldn't stay with him in the church.
"I can't, kid," he had said, "I gotta stay at Bill's and see what's going on with the cops," Johnny had said he understood but he hadn't, had only nodded numbly for lack of another response.
It was dark, a darkness unbroken by streetlights and house lights and store lights. Johnny wasn't used to such a complete darkness. The church was creepy, large and old and left to rot here in the woods.
Animals made noises in the woods. Johnny listened carefully, trying to figure out what it was. Anything was preferable to thinking about that blonde kid in the field, all that blood on the grass, so much blood Johnny couldn't believe it.
"There sure is a lot of blood in people," he whispered, the sound of his voice in the stillness making him feel more alone.
"Why?" The politeness was leaving her voice and her protective mother instincts were kicking in.
"We have a warrant for his arrest. Is he here?" The voice of the cop was deadly serious. Daniel sat in disbelief. What was this shit?
"What did he do?" His mother's New Jersey accent was getting thicker, as it did when she was scared, upset, or mad. Right now she was all three.
"Ma'am, is he here?" She looked torn, not wanting to let them in, not knowing how to stop them.
"Yes," she said heavily, and swung the door wide.
"Daniel LaRusso?" the younger of the two questioned him. Daniel was beginning to feel that dreamy fear.
"Yeah?"
Then it was quick.
"Stand up! Hands in the air!" They both pointed guns at him. He did what they said.
"Turn around, hands on the wall!" He did this, too, catching a glimpse of his mother's worried face, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his body, a taste like pennies in his mouth.
He felt them patting him down like in the movies, then his arms were roughly twisted behind his back and he was handcuffed.
"You're being placed under arrest for murder," One of the cops said, and read him the Miranda Rights, just like a movie. On the way to the police station Daniel was too stunned to be angry.
In a tiny interrogation room the two cops stared at him and he stared back with an expression both confused and sullen.
"Where did you go after school?" One cop was kind of smiley, the other mean. Good cop, bad cop. Daniel rolled his eyes.
"Just around,"
"Just around?" the mean one said.
"Yeah, like to the beach, and the mall, around,"
"Was anyone with you?"
"No,"
The room had cement walls painted a strange light green. The table they sat at took up most of the room.
"Look, I didn't kill anyone~"
"We have witnesses that say you did," Smiley cop said this, looking down at his notes.
"Well, so what? People can say anything! You're just going to believe whatever they say?" Daniel looked quickly from one cop to the other.
"We have a dead kid in the field between the school and the building where you live," The mean cop said this, his voice edged with steel, "and four witnesses who say you did it,"
Daniel hung his head. They had switched the handcuffs so his wrists were cuffed in front of him, and he stared at the cuffs, pulled his wrists against them until the metal dug into his flesh.
* * *
Lucille LaRusso, meanwhile, was going out of her mind.
She paced the apartment, caught between screaming and crying.
"What am I gonna do?" she questioned herself softly, running a hand through her curly hair. It wasn't a question of whether Daniel had done it, of course he hadn't. She recalled the calm way he was clipping at the bonsai tree tonight at Mr. Myagi's. To think that he had killed someone shortly before that was absurd.
She paced, she sat, she paced again. She knew something was going on with him, all the black eyes and cuts, his irritability. But whatever the problem was he wouldn't solve it by killing someone.
She sat in the middle of the couch and buried her head in her hands, wanting to cry but her eyes stayed bone dry.
* * *
Ponyboy Curtis had been hitchhiking for days. He was still fuming at Darry. The letter Dally had left on the table was crumbled in his hand. But he was getting closer.
It seemed to him that Soda could do anything, it didn't matter. But not him, no. He couldn't be late, he couldn't forget anything, he couldn't do anything wrong without Darry blowing up at him.
The sun was high overhead, it just beat down on him and he plodded on, sticking his thumb out everytime a car went by. He was mad at Johnny, too. He knew he shouldn't really be mad at him but he was anyway. How dare Johnny not be there when he needed him.
A car slowed and then stopped. Ponyboy trotted over, the letter firmly gripped in his fist.
"Hey, need a ride?" A pretty woman in her thirties, dirty blonde hair with honey gold highlights. She reminded him of his mother.
"Yeah,"
"Get in," She smiled a wide smile at him and he got in her car. He could smell the fake pine of the air freshener and the lighter scent of her perfume.
"Are you going to Receda?" he said, a slight edge of desperation in his voice. He was tired of going from car to car.
"Through there. I can drop you there," Ponyboy sighed in relief and shook a cigarette from his pack. He looked at the woman before he lit it, eyebrows raised, and she nodded her permission for him to smoke.
* * *
Johnny didn't understand why Dally wouldn't stay with him in the church.
"I can't, kid," he had said, "I gotta stay at Bill's and see what's going on with the cops," Johnny had said he understood but he hadn't, had only nodded numbly for lack of another response.
It was dark, a darkness unbroken by streetlights and house lights and store lights. Johnny wasn't used to such a complete darkness. The church was creepy, large and old and left to rot here in the woods.
Animals made noises in the woods. Johnny listened carefully, trying to figure out what it was. Anything was preferable to thinking about that blonde kid in the field, all that blood on the grass, so much blood Johnny couldn't believe it.
"There sure is a lot of blood in people," he whispered, the sound of his voice in the stillness making him feel more alone.