Can I Help You?

I thought Johnny had stopped breathing as we pulled into Tulsa. He sat so still.
"Alright, remember what I said. You don't have to say anything to the cops," I turned and looked at Ponyboy. He nodded.
"Johnny, o.k.? Don't say anything," He nodded with his eyes closed and I felt a surge of protectiveness and in that moment understood Dallas a little better.
I pulled up to the police station. Johnny opened his eyes and looked at it.
"Will you come with us?" Johnny said, but to me or Dallas I wasn't sure.
"There's no real reason to="
"Of course," Dallas said, cutting me off. Ah, what the hell? What would it hurt? I knew we wouldn't be able to stay with them for long.
The police station had that look all police stations seemed to have at night, a silent inexorable business as usual. And I didn't want them to go in there, almost like a father would want to protect his wayward son.
Inside there was a bench, a harsh flourescent light, and two locked bathrooms, one for men, one for women.
A solid looking cop with iron gray hair was doing paperwork behind a tall counter. He looked up when we came in.
"Can I help you?" he said. Ponyboy looked nervous, shifting from one tennis shoe to the other. Johnny looked too scared to speak.
"Yes, I'm D.K. Williams, a lawyer, and my clients have come to turn themselves in," The cop raised his eyebrows and peered over the counter at Ponyboy, Johnny, and Dallas.
Another cop walked by, he was tall and bald and recognized Dallas. He looked at him and smiled but his eyes stayed serious.
"Dallas Winston! To what do we owe this pleasure?" The cop said. Dallas stared him down, didn't say a word.
"Who are your clients?" The gray cop said. I motioned them to come forward and they did, the blood drained from their faces.
"Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade," The cop's eyes widened. He recognized the names. Johnny was looking at the floor, head down. Ponyboy looked right at the cop.
He shuffled some paperwork, stood up, and came around the desk.
"You're representing them?"
"Yes, sir," He glanced at the boys and I saw disdain in his look, then back at me with puzzlement, wondering why I'd defend a murderer and his friend.
"Cade, Curtis, come with me," the cop said, his tone business with a hint of mean.
They were out of our hands. Dallas and I watched them dissappear into the flourescent inner workings of the police station.
"Bail could be set on Curtis," the cop said to me and ignored Dallas, "but probably not Cade. Come back tomorrow,"
I nodded. It was what I expected. The grizzled cop followed the boys and Dallas and I were alone.
"I wonder what will happen to them." Dallas said but it wasn't a question. The statement had uncomfortable philosophical undertones and no one to answer. What would happen to any of us?