.............................................Homecoming

I thought it would be proper to call Ponyboy's brothers, they would want to pick him up.

"Yeah?" It was the oldest, Darrel.

"Darrel? This is D.K. Williams, I've got some good news. Ponyboy's bail was set and the charges reduced to running away,"

"Yeah? When can we come pick him up?"

"The bail bondsman should be in around 11, but they tend to come in when they feel like it. He'll call you,"

"O.K. Great. Thanks, Mr. Williams, thanks so much,"

I wanted to go there for Ponyboy's homecoming but I heard Clyde's voice in my ear, in my head, talking about boundaries.

I did my job. For Ponyboy, anyway. He'd be fine. I didn't need to go involving myself anymore than I was.

............................................................Randy

Randy's house was much like Cherry's, a beautiful house filled with beautiful things.

"My parents are out...golf," he said, "so we've got the place to ourselves,"

I pulled out my yellow legal pad and watched Randy look out the window, a pensive scowl on his face.

"So what happened?" I said, pen poised.

He didn't answer right away. Just continued to stare out the window at the manicured lawn and curving driveway. I thought I saw a pair of stone lions at the base of the driveway but couldn't be sure.

"I'm not proud of this," he said, still not looking at me. He sighed, then turned to me.

"Mr. Williams, look, Bob wasn't perfect, shit, I know that. But he was a good guy, the best buddy a guy ever had," I nodded.

"His mother had a nervous breakdown," He shook his head, ran a hand distractedly through his hair.

I waited, not wanting to push him or quiz him. I remembered something from a class in college, about silence. Using silence to get a client or witness to talk to you instead of babbling at them. It was a difficult technique.

"But that kid that killed him, that was the same kid we'd nearly killed before,"

So he was there, too. I silently thanked whatever gods look out for lawyers and Cherry Valence, red haired angel.

"Yeah, um, what happened when you beat him up?"

"It was Bob's idea to go hunting for a greaser to jump. We found that kid kicking a football around a vacant lot. He was alone, and kinda small, he didn't have a chance," He shook his head and closed his eyes for longer than a blink.

"It doesn't matter that I dragged Bob off of him. I thought that kid was already dead. He was all covered with blood, he wasn't conscious, and Bob had just been pounding on him..." Randy opened his eyes and looked at me. I wondered again if Johnny remembered that. The psychologist said people can block traumatic events from their mind.

"That night we were going to take the girls to the drive in, but Bob brought some booze and Cherry flipped out, started screaming at him, and they left,"

I was jotting it down. They all said the same thing. Cherry, Marcia, Ponyboy, Johnny, and now Randy. The story was straight.

"We figured we'd pick them up later, see if they had cooled off. We drank some more, met up with three of our pals and drank even more. We were reeling drunk when we headed back to the drive in to pick up the girls,"

My eyes fell on the liquor cabinet, I could see the bottles gleaming in the dull light beneath the glass.

"But the girls weren't there. Bob's temper was always worse when he was drunk, and he punched the dashboard, cracking it. I tried to calm him down, I said we'd find them, and we did. They were walking with three greasers, uh, kids. I was angry but Bob, it was beyond anger. We nearly fought with them right there but Cherry stopped us,"

Randy lit a cigarette and offered me one. I declined. A blue glass ashtray in the shape of a star sat shining on the coffee table. I wondered if they had a maid, and if they did, if she scrubbed that ashtray. It seemed a shame to flick ashes into that clear blue surface.

"We dropped the girls off and Bob said, 'Let's find those goddamn greasers and kill them,' and I was pretty mad myself and wanted to fight them for picking up our girls," He shook his head, dragged on his cigarette, looked out the window.

"We drove around awhile, no one was around. I was about ready to give up when we saw two kids at the park that has that fountain. 'Think that's them?' I said. Bob's eyes were sort of half closed and he squinted out the window. 'Could be,' he said, 'I'm gonna kill those little sons of bitches,' And we headed over. It was them all right. And the one that killed Bob, we punched him in the stomach and shoved him to the ground. The other one had been with Cherry, all over her, you know? Bob wanted to kill him and we got him, you know, and shoved him in the fountain..."

He smashed that cigarette into the blue glass ashtray and rubbed his eyes, took a shuddery breath.

"That kid was screaming, struggling, and I guess we really did mean to kill him. He was calling for that other kid, and then he stopped, he got kind of still, and Bob kept dunking him in that fountain and the other kid came over, he had a knife, and he said, 'Let him go, asshole,' and all of a sudden I recognized him, he was that kid we beat up, and he didn't look scared like he did that time," Randy shook his head again, ran his hand through his hair, lit another cigarette.

"Bob said to him, 'what are you gonna do, huh? You low life greaser piece of shit,' And then he stabbed him, just like that, and blood gushed out of Bob's stomach and his mouth...oh God, we, I didn't know what the hell to do. We took off, just left, we just left,"

Randy buried his head in his hands, the cigarette turning to a neat roll of ash in the ashtray.

..............................................................Dallas

I was in the dark bar in the lobby of my hotel. It was dusk, but I only knew that from the faded square of light visible through the door that lead to the lobby. I was drinking, just a bit of whiskey over ice to relax. I had a meeting with Ms. Johnson in two days. I had decided to hope that Johnny couldn't remember that beating. If he couldn't remember it then he couldn't kill Bob in revenge for it.

I paid my bar bill and headed for my room, thinking I might get a good night's sleep. I laid down on top of the made bed, the lights still on, the hum of the heaters almost making me sleepy.

Someone pounded on my door. Three pounds, a fist striking the door again, again, again. I sat bolt upright, stumbled to the door, peeked out the tiny peephole. Dallas stood in the hall. I opened the door.

"Dallas," He pushed by me and came in, pacing, looking ragged.

"Look, man, I went to see Johnny today," He sat at the small table in the corner of the room. He looked ready to spring, all kinetic energy wound into a tight coil.

I felt with my tongue my back teeth for bits of food, didn't say anything.

"Williams, you gotta get him outa there. He looks like shit," and for a brief moment I thought he looked young, essentially helpless.

"I tried, the D.A.="

"Fuck the D.A. He's gonna fucking kill himself in there and you gotta get him out,"

I felt my temper rise. I gritted my teeth and tried to keep it in check, tried to stay cool.

"How much power do you think I have? What can I do? I tried to get the charges dropped or at least reduced but he won't, they won't even set bail="

"So fucking what, man? This is your fault, all your fault," Dallas' eyes glittered and were narrowed dangerously. I felt my temper slipping, like the sweaty grip on a piece of metal, it was slipping.

"It is not my fault. He's in jail because he killed someone,"

"They didn't have to go back. They're gonna find him guilty and fucking fry him in that electric chair!"

"Dallas, do you honestly think they could have stayed in that church the rest of their lives? They would get caught eventually,"

He swallowed hard and pounded his fist on the table. I flinched.

"They could have got fake I.D.'s, it's not that hard. They could have moved to a new city, a new state, had brand new lives. The cops would never fucking catch 'em. And they'd be fine," He glared at me and the anger I'd been trying to control vanished. Beneath that tough exterior I saw that he was scared. I was just a convenient target.

"It's just that Johnny, that kid..." Dallas shook his head, out of words or without words.

.........................................................Johnny

Next day I went to see Johnny. Ponyboy was home, he'd called me gleefully to thank me again.

I went to see Johnny to tell him about Randy testifying. I was worried about him, worried he would try to kill himself. I figured some good news might help, and a visitor might help.

I thought Johnny didn't see how important he was to these kids, to Ponyboy and Dallas and Ponyboy's brothers. I could see it. How protective they were of him, and worried sick over him.

He came in, glanced at me, and sat down. Eyes downcast, not moving. I told him about Randy testifying.

"That's good," he said dully.

"Hey, that is good. That really strengthens our case," I said, trying to convince him, or cheer him up.

"You're seeing Ms. Johnson tomorrow," I said. He shrugged, said, "Who's that?"

"The psychologist,"

He looked up at me, dark haunted eyes boring into me. I tried hard not to look away.

"I don't want to see her again," he said. I froze.

"What? Why? Why not?"

"I don't like to talk about all that shit," he said it so softly, looked down again. Every time I got in a conversation with him about this I felt like I was barely treading water.

"Johnny, I know, I mean I can understand you don't like to talk about it. But it's important, it's very important for this case="

"What does it have to do with it?" he said miserably. I debated what to say, how much to say. This certainly wouldn't cheer him up.

"It's, uh, look Johnny, you killed someone and, it was self defense but maybe the way your parents treat you played a part," He didn't respond, didn't move, nothing. The silence spun out.

"Johnny?" I was hesitant, afraid I was just making things worse. He looked up, looked at me with that dark haunted look, and when he spoke softly what he said sent a chill through me.

"They're gonna kill me in that electric chair, I know it, and maybe they should. Hell, I did kill that boy. I killed someone, so I should be killed," I stared at him, feeling cold.