Thank you everyone who has been keeping up with this story!
This chapter introduces Darry and Debbie's kids: Jackie (6), Junior (4) and Maddie (3).
It also brings back Martin, who is the bartender at Lucky Joe's in my other story 'Treading Water'. In addition, it references a scene from that same one-shot where Soda OD'd in the Curtis home kitchen after mixing alcohol and pills soon after he returned from Vietnam. Pony has since wondered if Soda did it on purpose. And lastly, we see Sam who we met in 'Memory Lane', one of Soda's teenage employees at the DX.
Chapter 4: The Fall
Tulsa, December 1975
'You Should Be Dancing' starts to play through the juke, and when I whip around to see who in God's name would pay to hear that song, of course, it's my very own brother standing by his lonesome next to the box. His hips are shaking to the beat in his best, and painfully accurate John Travolta impression. I shake my head and will my ears shut off, at least until the song's over.
I can't stand disco.
"Not a fan?" Martin asks, hauling a crate of clean pint glasses to be dried.
My nose scrunches up on its own terms like the Bee Gees have an actual odor to them. "I'm more of a Dylan man myself."
"Soda!" he hollers over the noise of the packed room, "You're gonna drive people out of my bar with that music and ruin Jimmy's party. Pick somethin' else." He slides a pint of Rheingold my way, that color evoking an immediate sense of nostalgia as if I'm right back in the big city after a long day at the Times.
"Since when do you carry East Coast brews?" I ask, clinking my glass with his nearby ice water.
"Since some big city slicker with a funny name told me Rheingold was the best damn beer out there. I ordered a case to test it out, and I have to say, you've got a refined palate Ponyboy Curtis. Nobody here ever asks for anything other than a Budweiser. And honestly, I tried it and I don't see what all the fuss is about." I take a sip and in truth, it does taste much better when you're surrounded by pollution and traffic horns and city lights. "To life, to life, L'Chaim." Life must be pretty interesting as a half Irish half Jewish man living in Oklahoma, but Martin lives it well.
He might be right. College may have aged me towards snobbish. I never thought things like bagels or pizza could be good or bad, but now I can't stand to eat from my old favorite Italian joint down the street from here. Not after four years of New York slices.
"So I shouldn't expect this to be a regular item, huh?"
"'Fraid not." His eyes are watching the door, a bit distracted, as three college aged boys come in, costumed in baggy, patterned attire that clash pretty obnoxiously. By the looks of it, they've spent a lot of money trying to look homely. I never understand that. Rich kids used to buy clean, tailored, fancy outfits to make it clear they had it made, but now some of them pay chunks of change for things they could find in the dumpster.
Martin's got a sharp eye for this kind of thing, he can usually read a guy the second they step into his bar, and he decides pretty quickly what he thinks right when he sees you. I can tell by the way his brow shoots up quizzically that these boys won't find a fan in him. After all, he's got two Purple Hearts. He doesn't take too kindly to those who say peace is better than war but don't see that sometimes you have to have one in order to get the other.
I can see both sides, I guess, especially after living in the city with so many different kinds of people. Some believe that peace really is that simple, and some thing it's got to be earned. If there's anything I've learned seeing both sides of the tracks, it's that they're both right, but they'll never agree with one another.
But these boys here look like they're just playing the game, saying all the things they think they're supposed to without getting any real skin in the game. I don't have a problem with conviction, I don't care so much what side it leans towards, but I have problems with the phonies. And these guys are definitely just that.
They sit right next to me, and I try to keep from staring as I anxiously await a showdown that's likely to spring up between these unsuspecting hippies and Martin. I've never seen Martin's wrath. I kind of want to, though. But to my disappointment, they order their Buds nonchalantly and take back to their conversation with one another.
Martin's temper seems to have quieted down, now that there's no trouble brewing, so I sink a little deeper into my chair for the long haul this night is surely to become. Soda's ditched the jukebox, and now he's been roped into Jimmy-the-birthday-boy's table, probably telling one of his wild tales. I imagine we'll be here a while, but I don't mind. I like people watching. It's good to be back home.
"So, Ponyboy, what's the plan now? Goin' back to the big cities, or you gonna slum it back here in Tulsa where the real men live?" Martin throws his drying towel over his shoulder like a cliché in the best way possible.
"Welp," I inhale deeply to buy some time, since I don't know the answer. "Still trying to figure if I'm staying or going. I'd like to try my hand at a Master's degree if I can."
"You mean there's school after school?" His eyes are all big, and I can't tell if he's joking. Martin's got one of those thick Oklahoma accents that slurs his words together and might trick you into thinking he's stupid, but he's about the sharpest guy I know. He knows just about everything there is to know about history and politics, he'll fix anything for five dollars, he was even fluent in Polish once upon a time. He's illiterate, though, and so our strengths are completely opposite. I think that's why I like talking to him so much, he gives me another side of the coin to think about.
"Yeah, there's always more school."
"And you pay for it?"
"Most of the time, yeah." I've been fortunate enough to get most of my tuition covered through scholarships and work studies and internships, but there's still some hefty loans I'm working to pay off.
Martin shakes his head. "I guess if anyone was going to decide to do more schoolin' than they had to, it was going to be a Curtis." and I remember then what I often forget, the friendship Martin and Dad had before us boys were even born. I never knew Dad was the type who cared about school, I figured he didn't finish high school because he didn't want to, but maybe he couldn't. Like Darry didn't get to finish college. Two of the smartest guys I've met, but not because of schooling.
It's tragic when I stop to think about all the things I probably don't know about Dad.
"You write books, right?"
I shrug, "Sorta. I wrote one about Tulsa and growing up here. But mostly I want to do Journalistic writing. You know, the real life stories that are happening around us. I like reading fiction, but I like writing what's real."
His face lights up just as Soda hops onto the stool on my right. "My wife used to read me all kinds of stories when I'd be doing projects on the house. She read me one about about a whale once. A whale, can you believe it? I remember laughing right in her face. Until she got to reading it, that is, and then I couldn't stop listening. Had her readin' it clear into the mornin'. You got a favorite book?"
I chew on that for a minute, because it's a bigger question than anyone ever realizes for someone like me. Soda's got his hand on his cheek, leaning against it and the bar as he watches me think. My silence is making me feel all kinds of stupid. Just like that, it's as if I've forgotten every book I've ever read now that someone's actually interested.
Soda swoops in to save me, "You were talking about that Donkey Hottie book for a while." He says, face completely deadpan. Sometimes I don't think he hears himself. I almost spew my beer right in his face, looking anything but sophisticated like you're supposed to when you're drinking an NYC brew.
Right away he starts laughing at me even though he knows I'm laughing at him.
"Don Quixote?" I correct mid snort when I finally catch my breath and wipe the beer that's dribbling off my chin with my sleeve. Soda hasn't contained himself enough to confirm, but I know that's what he's talking about. I spent a solid two semesters blabbering about that book. It took me forever to read, but I loved every second of it, and spent more time than I should've trying to get Soda and Darry to care as much as I did. He's right though, that's the closest I'll ever get to calling a book my favorite.
And though he's never read it, Soda puts on his storyteller face and leans in on his elbows, propping his chin on top of his interlaced fingers so he can tell it to Martin, who's also angling in towards us to hear like it's some kind of a secret. "It's about an old man, who just goes around on adventures actin' like a gentleman and saving people for no other reason than that's just what you should do." His eyes sparkle. He forgets the part that the man was completely out of his mind and delusional while he was doing it, but that's one of those details that Soda never thinks is important. I can understand that, especially when I try to see things like my brother does.
Martin bobs his head to think about it for a minute, but I think he's decided that a character like that is too far fetched for him to believe. Soda's floating down like a feather on the wind, back to the bar with us too, instead of galavanting off on his own chivalric romantic adventure. The mood is lost a bit on me as well when I think on why that might be such a fantastical idea to the two of them.
I close my eyes and remember the line that stuck out most to me 'The wounds received in battle bestow honor, they do not take it away...' I think about them both and wonder if they'd agree. I recited that line to myself over and over right around the time Soda was hitting his lowest point all those years ago while I was off in college, always feeling so far away and useless.
"Can I get you a Coca Cola, Private Curtis?" Martin asks in our quiet pondering.
"Sodapop would love a soda pop."
"Private? You an army boy?" I hear from my left, and see it's one of the hippie boys, his eyes drowning in intoxication and privilege he's trying to pass for enlightenment.
Martin's already off to fetch the Coke before he hears the boys, but Soda's eyes fix on them pretty intensely immediately. "Who wants to know?"
Another one of the boys steps in, leaning close into the space I've carved out for myself like it's his own so he can get a better look at Soda. "Just those of us who don't want to share the bar with a criminal."
My face instantly burns up at this, and my teeth are clenched so tightly that my jaw aches. Soda's not letting them go with that gaze he got on them, but I'm surprised at how collected he is, not looking anything like I've seen him look before in these situations. Usually he looks like a bottle rocket right before it goes off. He even shrugs it off, ignoring them completely and gives Martin his big grin when his cola arrives. But again, Martin moves down the bar to help another customer before he can hear what's going on and step in like I wish he would.
"You afraid to talk to me?" the guy says like an idiot, and I can hear my heart pounding furiously in my ears. Sometimes I get so mad I feel dizzy. The only thing keeping me from pouncing on them right here right now is Soda's pride. Guys like to fight their own battles, and Soda's more than capable to deal with this himself. But tonight, I guess he's decided to pocket that temper we all know he's got. Instead, he takes a sip off the straw and winks at the boys.
"Nah, I'm 'fraid you'd be too stupid to understand me if I was to talk to you." he quips, and by his demeanor, he really isn't ruffled one bit by them and their words.
They chuckle that insecure kind of chuckle, looking for another tactic to get under our skin since Soda's not biting the bait.
"Well, thank God we got white trash like you to be Uncle Sam's cannon fodder," the first guy to talk says to his friends, and my head whips around to him. If Soda really doesn't care enough to defend his own self, he can't blame me for feeling the need to come in hot and heavy at that. Nobody gets to flippantly declare my brother fodder, especially when they weren't around when we waited all those months to see if that's actually how he'd been spent.
"Ooh, looks like we ticked off the big one. We hit a nerve, sweetheart? Well, murdering innocent civilians hits a nerve with us too." I hold back the adrenaline that nearly shoots me up from my chair at that smug face looking back at me. This guy really has no clue of the stupid he's spewing.
"Why don't we go play a round of pool, Pony? These dandies ain't worth it." Soda says calmly, but loud enough for his insult to reach their ears. Who the hell is this tame gentleman before me and what has he done with my bottle rocket brother? Soda's one of those people who would fight to the death, and while walking away may be the right thing to do, I can't help but question his game plan here. Have I really been gone and away from him long enough that now I can't even anticipate his next move? We've always been on the same page, he and I, but I don't recognize this guy and his angle at all.
I watch him as he stands to leave, not out of fear, but out of apathy, which is worse.
"Let it go, Pony." he says with a warning look as he waits for me to join him. I'm sure I've got a look of dejected disbelief on my face because he gives me a pacifying smile, so I let it go, slapping a couple of dollars for Martin on the counter.
"Figures a fuckin' baby killer wouldn't have the balls to face his sins." One of the guys says under his breath. I blast off of my stool like a cat on fire, colliding with whichever body got in my way first, my fists clenched tightly as I swing them into the masses around me like a maniac.
cont.
When I come to, I've got the kid's t-shirt entangled in my fist, bits of his beard woven in my fingers that tug at his chin, and I'm leaning him back against the bar while he tries to wiggle free from me. The scene around us starts to come back to life, the music, the whispers that float above us and settle back on my shoulders, the stench of beer on this kid's breath. There's a crowd around us. Only the music dares to compete with the room's horrible silence. How long have I been out?
"Let it go, Soda." I hear Pony right next to me, he's got a firm hold on my wrist that I'm holding high above my head. His face is drenched in sweat and blood oozes from his nose, his eyes are locked onto mine and he's out of breath. I wonder what the hell's just happened. Last thing I remember is talking with Martin and Pony about that donkey book Pony loves so much.
As I follow his arm up to mine, there's a broken beer bottle in my hand, the neck of it in my palm gripped so tight that it's shaking. The bottom has been blown out with dangerously sharp and jagged edges protruding like blades. I look back down at the kid in my hands, and he's completely frozen, his arms up in surrender, and a busted lower lip and eyebrow. Did I do that? I'm not sure if I should be surprised at myself of relieved he isn't already dead.
It wouldn't be the first time I've made a horrible mistake in anger.
I shake my head like it'll erase that old, dusty memory.
It all flashes behind my eyes again where nobody else sees, so clear that I have to grip the shirt in my hands a little tighter to remember where I really am right now.
The grenade. Parson. Lemon Head.
I wish I could be that guy from Pony's book now more than ever. I've always been stupid like that guy. Did I have to be guilty too?
Looking inside from the outside don't always feel too good.
Pony carefully pulls the bottle from my hand and once it's secure in his own, starts prying at my other fist, tugging at it to release the kid.
Martin's at the back of the bar, ready with his baseball bat in hand, and looking a look that has concern, disappointment and understanding all mixed in to one and aimed directly at me. I feel hollow.
I let the boy go and take a step back, more glass crunching beneath my feet and when I look down, there's a real mess below where we stand.
"C'mon." Pony says, pulling me towards the door, and I follow behind tripping all over myself.
The kid blows himself back up, dusting the shards off of his clothes. "What's the matter with you?" He scoffs, "Burn in hell, you murderer." I keep my eyes on the door, cause I've already done enough damage, but Pony stops dead in his tracks, pivots in one smooth move as he lets me go and I watch his determined, fuming walk back to the kid with pounding shoes like hits on a drum. He shoves a finger in the kid's face who's already lost all his air from before, as he cowers into the edge of the bar the closer Pony gets.
"If I ever see you at this bar ever again, I'll pick right back up where we left off and finish you myself, you catch my drift?" The kid nods, and Pony brings himself back to me, his green eyes dangerous and not daring to meet mine as we leave the crowd of onlookers with a slam of the door.
Tulsa, February 1976
"Cream and sugar?" Debbie asks from the kitchen.
"Just black." I respond with an odd combination of embarrassment and pride since it took me working in New York to finally quit drowning my coffee in creamer. Jackie skips around the corner and into the living room where Darry and I sit, Maddie not far behind, as always. Jackie's got a Sunshine Family doll in either hand, and works one of them into my own. In Maddie's hand is an Evel Knievel toy motorcycle, but the man himself is nowhere to be found.
"Uncle Pony, you can be Princess Stephanie, like last time. Let's pretend we're locked away in a castle and we have to find a way out before the dragon gets us." No princes in this game again, I see. Jackie says she never wants to get married, what with boys being gross and all. So all her games revolve around being her own hero: a beautiful princess decorated with the dress and tiara, and in her version of every fairytale, all the power she needs to save herself. She would've aced my creative writing course at Columbia. She always has me play the princess's sister, Princess Stephanie, who usually doesn't get much more than a couple of words in here and there, and who Jackie usually works in as being totally incapable of anything. Jackie's always in charge when it comes to deciding the game, I guess that power is bestowed eternally on the eldest sibling. Poor little Maddie looks like she never gets to pick the adventure, and I watch as she takes to herself, rolling that motorbike over the arms of my recliner.
"Junior, what do you think you're doing?" Debbie's trying to carry all three mugs of coffee just as their middle kid is climbing his way onto the counter to reach the cabinets. Her laugh is always a kind one, "Mama can help you get food if you're hungry, but you have to ask or how am I supposed to know?"
He looks over his shoulder back at her like he's figuring whether or not he wants to obey. "Junior, get down." Darry's voice comes quick and harsh, even I flinch a little at its curtness. Junior lets out a defeated sigh, always in trouble, and slides off the countertop without a word, running off around the corner in rejection, probably to find something else to get yelled at about later.
"Princess Stephanie? Hellooooo?" And I snap back into Jackie's game, her doll bouncing around cheerily while mine's looking a little like she just up and died the way she's lying face down, limp in my palm. I straighten her out and clear my throat to play, but Darry jumps in again.
"Jacqueline, go take your brother and sister outside, your Uncle Pony and I have some talkin' to do." he says, elbows on the tops of his knees as he addresses her clearly. Why do I feel like I'm in trouble?
Jackie is a Daddy's Girl all the way, so she nods back dutifully at him and rounds up her siblings with a quick clap of her hands, lining them up by the door and releasing them out the backyard where she can boss them around some more.
"We can play in a little while!" I holler, remembering how I used to hate getting shooed out of the conversation.
Now that it's just us adults, it feels like all the life has been sucked out of the room. The kids are always a great distraction from the reality of everything else that's been going on lately, I wish we could let them back in.
"So?" Darry says. I can tell by his tone today that's he's got a short fuse already. Debbie shoots me an encouraging look from her spot on the loveseat next to him, like she knows where I'm about to take the conversation.
I try to match his level of intensity since that's usually the only way to pierce that thick hide he wears and earn some respect for myself. I haven't been scared of Darry in years, but right now, it's creeping back in just like old times. "Dar, you know I understand why you got on Soda like you did the other night at the hospital, right?" and he's laughing that sneering, spiteful laugh at my words that mean he doesn't appreciate the bridge I'm trying to build between us. I'm realizing now he thinks I'm siding with Soda, which couldn't be further from the truth. "Hell, I probably would've done it too had you not."
There's a pause, and Darry's brows go up impatiently. "But?" He puts extra emphasis on the 't' like a bullet out of the barrel of a gun.
I swallow, wishing I'd man up a bit. I was Columbia's Journalism Student of the Year, and yet Darry's icy blues cut all that down in a second. I press on. "But... fighting him like that isn't going to get us through this in one piece."
"Ponyboy, I don't expect you to understand how much worse all of this is now that they've got a baby comin'." Darry starts, and though I want to believe deep down that he's not trying to patronize me, I suddenly feel like I'm five and fighting to be taken seriously by my eldest brother all over again "This ain't about Soda like it was before. This is about the safety of that baby, and Grace, and hell, the rest of us. He's playing with fire, and he knew it when he started back up with those pills."
"So you're just going to drop him like a sack of potatoes? He's your brother, not some jerk off from the streets."
He looks back at me in disbelief. "Listen, Pony, don't you forget I near raised that kid, and I never did get anywhere by being soft. Not with either of you. This ain't his first strike."
Debbie subs in for me, something I'm always thankful for because he'll actually listen to her. "Honey, you know it's not that simple. Relapse doesn't happen on purpose, it's about exposure." And she would know with all those veterans she treated back in her nursing days.
Darry softens up a bit, and places a hand on her knee so she knows he's heard her.
"Something happened that night." I say, speaking of exposure, and they both turn back to me. "The fight at Lucky's, whatever it was that started this over again happened when we started fighting those guys."
"When we gonna quit blaming that damn fight for everything?" he's being harsh, he's knows it, but even then I'm not sure I'll be able to pull him out of it today.
"You weren't there, Darry." I remind him, and Debbie nods to back me up. "Soda wasn't going to fight him until I started throwing punches. But when he did... Darry, I think he could've killed that guy if it got down to it. I know everybody was patting him on the back for what he did by the morning, but... it's like there was nobody home when I looked at him. It scared me, man. But then he sorta came out of it and that's when I could see it all over his face, he was scared of himself too. He's just trying to get away from that feeling."
Darry doesn't bat an eye and goes digging for the facts again, "So what are you trying to tell me?"
"Who knows if we'll ever know everything that happened overseas. But right now, none of us have any clue as to what he's gone through. Nobody. And I know this is our second round with this shit, but after everything, he deserves a solid team backing him. We owe him at least that."
Darry takes an exasperated inhale only to dump all that air back out into the tense space around us. I know this look. He's had enough of me. I used to imagine his inner dialogue, weighing the pros and cons of strangling me just to shut me up. Even if you got away with it, Darry, he'd still find a way to piss you off from the grave. It used to be funnier in my head than it is now.
He licks his lips cooly. "Pony, I love him more than I could ever try to explain." and now he looks at me harder than he ever has before, eyes full of the kind of pain and passion you see in a ragged warrior. You could spend hours trying to dissect everything in that expression. "I wasn't at the bar that night, no. But you weren't there when he rock bottom, you were up at school. I was his solid team for a solid two years, and it just about killed the both of us. I have to protect my family now. And maybe taking a step back instead of trying to take him by the hand is what I should've done all along. I'm tired, Pony."
My stomach pangs with guilt that sticks like duct tape. I knew at the time Darry was shouldering a lot of Soda's addiction. I tried to be there, I even offered to take some time away from school, but he refused my help. I knew it was hard for him by himself, but maybe I underestimated it. Still, I'm torn between feeling empathy for him, and feeling fury towards him for even considering to ditch Soda at a time like this.
Yeah, I wasn't there, sure. But I was there in those first couple of months after his return. I was there when he overdosed on our kitchen rug. I was there for enough shit to know that if we don't do this right, we could lose him forever.
I guess it's been a while because he speaks up again. "You never should've let him earn back your trust after he got sober, there's your trouble. I know it hurts you, Pony, and I'm sorry."
Maybe he's right. But I still have some rounds left in me and I'm spending them on Soda.
"But we always stick together, Dar. That's what you said all those years. We always stick together."
Darry rubs his eyebrow furiously, then slaps his hand on his knee with startling force before he leans in close to me, his voice close to breaking, "I'm not gonna abandon him, Pony, you gotta know by now I'd never do that. I'm just taking my hands of the reigns. You gotta let me handle this my way, just like you're handling it your way. Junkie Soda is a real sinking ship, and if we're not careful, we'll be on that ship if it goes down. I just can't afford that anymore." I forget how differently we see Soda, and I wonder if Soda sees the two of us differently, too.
"Stop calling him a junkie." I take a breath before I start venturing into saying things I don't mean. "What about Grace and the baby?"
"They are my priority." His voice is firm, his mind made up.
"Gracie's strong," Debbie chimes in, and that's another thing she would know better than Darry or I. "You being there for Soda means you're being there for her too, Pony. Means she doesn't have to do this on her own. Grace is going to try to see this thing through, like she does, and if it all falls to pieces, she's the one we need to worry about keeping safe." and her eyes are solely on me, because Debbie will always defend me when I stand my ground.
Darry seems to understand this, probably because it's coming from Debbie and not me.
He lets out a growling groan like an old dog, "I hear you, Pony, I do. I'll think on what you've said. You and I gotta be a team through this, but that don't mean we have to handle everything the same way."
I nod, since it's not like Darry and I have ever done anything the same way before anyways. "I hear you."
And as I stand to leave, Darry stands too. It's when he hugs me that I start to wonder if he might be right, and I'm the sucker in all of this.
cont.
"Darrel you got a light?" Dave asks once we hit the stop light at Drover Street.
"I ain't smoked since 1971. No, I don't have a light."
"Well, then we'll have to stop by the DX to get one, I can't go all day without a smoke, 'less you want a real pain in the ass on your hands all day." he says, searching his pockets once more with no success. "Your brother workin' today?"
My shrug is rote.
"Something on your mind?"
"Let's get that lighter now, I don't want to have to stop mid patrol when you get all hot and bothered for a smoke." I make a U-turn so we can backtrack back to the DX.
"Mornin' Officer Curtis." Sam says, putting on his DX cap looking ready to clock in as we step out of the car. "'Pops is in the front, if you're looking."
"II'll go in in a bit." I say, giving him a smile that probably looks just as forced as it is. It's getting harder and harder to cover up my worry for my family, and Soda and I haven't spoken since we got into it at the hospital. Sam's still looking at me. "Any colleges come through?"
He bobs his head with the pride I remember when I got my own letter of acceptance. "Oklahoma City Community College. I'm just waiting to hear about some scholarships."
I pat him on the back, "Good for you. You should talk to our other brother, Ponyboy, he's a pro when it comes to scholarship applications. Might be able to give you some tips."
"That's what 'Pops said. I'll be reaching out to him real soon, I can use all the advice I can get." and he gives us a little wave before taking his post at the gas pump.
"I'll be back." And Dave disappears in through the doors behind Sam, leaving me in the hot sun where all those worries sweep right back.
Curly exits as Dave enters the DX, spotting me immediately with his shifty eyes. Instead of stopping for pleasantries, he keeps right on past me and around the building, even tsking loud enough for me to hear. I follow him.
"Curly?" I ask once we're out of sight and behind the building, and he turns smoothly like he knew I'd be on his tail.
The Shepards don't talk to me much anymore since I started working for the station. I understand why, but it's not how they make it out to be, considering the only reason I went through training was to bring some perspective to the badge. Someone who understood what it was like to be the kids always getting locked up, the ones who never caught a break. I think I've done a damn good job, so far. Had there been just one officer who understood the night Dallas was killed, maybe we never would've lost him. Dallas would've probably disowned me at first, but I like to think he and his backwards ways would've come around and maybe even been proud in the end.
Not the Shepards though, and certainly not Curly.
"Hi, Darry." he says instead of trying to flee, his face sunken in, skin shriveled and eyes low in their sockets. Far as I know, he's been sober a long while, like Soda was, but he used and abused his body harder than I've seen anyone do before, and it still shows just by looking at him even today.
I remember Pony this afternoon, telling me I have to handle Soda in a new way, and I get an idea.
"Curly, you been dealing to my brother?" I ask, and he gives me a crooked smile.
"Nope."
"You been dealing to my brother." I declare this time.
He doesn't say anything.
I peak over my shoulder, Dave's nowhere to be seen.
"I've got a deal to make with you." I stand taller, though we're both the same height, I don't think Curly's ever quite gotten over how much I used to scare him. That and my uniform tends to create a sense of intimidation. "You know Soda and Grace have got a baby comin', right?"
Curly looks disinterested, and I don't why I thought he'd care, so I gruff up.
"I know he gets his shit from you. So alls I need you to do is keep me in the loop when he does. Sell him what you want, I don't care, but the second he buys something off of you, I want to know."
Curly kicks the dirt a little, considering this route of betrayal, even as he pushes back with a grin. "And what if I don't?"
"You don't, then you can count on me watchin' your every move. Just waitin' for you to fuck it up so I can take you down to the station. What are you on? Third offense?" My voice doesn't even sound like mine in my ears, but maybe that's just wishful thinking.
Surely he has at least some grasp of why I'd do this, right? Tim would understand the need to protect his younger brother at all costs, but I don't know if Curly does. He's been messed up a while now.
"Blackmail, Curtis? That don't sound like you." Curly's sly, always has been, but it's also pretty easy to spot his bluff and I think under that expression, he's feeling uneasy.
"I'm a new man." I stare back and he blinks first.
"So you'd let me keep on sellin' just for tabs on your brother?"
I nod without the hesitancy I wish I had.
"And what if I get caught again? I could use someone lookin' out for me, a dirty cop."
I feel like I need to take a shower.
"All bets are off if you get busted by anyone else in uniform, but I can at least keep one squad car off your back. I ain't about to help your little operation, but we can come to an agreement that works for us both."
He spits the tobacco from his mouth. "You got yourself a deal, Curtis." Curly's the one junkie I've ever know who sticks to his word.
We shake hands, and I feel something break inside me. Dad's probably shaking his head at me right now, wherever he is, and where I'd usually be ashamed at his disappointment, right now all I can feel is resentment towards him for not being here to help me with this shit.
This is not what I ever wanted to become.
I stand as tall as I can without looking obviously broken. "He buy off you just now in the DX?"
He tsks again, "Deal starts now, I ain't giving you nothing before this moment right here."
That's one way to say yes.
Curly's never been known for his brains, but you can't deny the empire he's built for himself here as Tulsa go-to dealer. He's got something for just about everyone: the rich kids on the West side of town, the drop outs smoking dope down the street from the station, the hippies who'll do anything to drop some acid, you name your drug and he'll supply it.
He starts to turn to walk away, but I step in his path. "Just know that I have my ways of checking in if he's been buying, so if you try and withhold information from me, I will find out. And I'll come down hard on you."
My spine tingles, knowing full well how I'm helping him take down the city I swore an oath to protect.
"Darry?" Dave calls from around the corner. I look over my shoulder just as he rounds it. "There you are."
When I turn back, Curly's out of sight, like an apparition, and it's just me and Dave.
"I bought us snacks for later." Dave says, holding up his favorite Lays Potato Chips and Snickers bars, but I'm too full of shame for treats.
"Great, Dave." I peel my lip from off my teeth in an attempt to smile.
He starts to open his candy bar nonchalantly. "Soda was askin' if you were here, too."
Author's Note:
Those who know me know I suck at consistency and timelines... and so I cheated a bit here... 'Saturday Night Fever' didn't come out until 1977, but the Bee Gees song 'You Should Be Dancing' DID come out in 1976. And I have nothing against the Bee Gees personally, it just seemed to me like Pony would not be a fan of their disco era ;)
Thanks, as always, for being an audience to this story, I cannot say enough how much it means to me!
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