Chapter 1- Learning from Steve Randle

I decided to write a little four or five shot before I dig into another long story...so this one shouldn't be too long. But you never know where it could go, let me know what you think.

"Did you talk to him?" Soda craned his neck around the open hood to look at Steve.

The garage at the DX was hot and stifling. It smelled like dirt and oil and gas, and I was always worried that when I lit up a smoke I'd go up in flames. So, I was real careful when I lit the match, pulling it against the soul of my shoe like I'd seen Paul Newman do when he played that arrogant Texas cowboy.

Then I made sure the match was good and out before I flicked it at the trash and pile of rags in the corner.

Steve slammed the wrench he'd been holding back into the drawer and noisily rummaged through the rest. It tinked together with the rest of the tools like an unusually loud windchime. When he couldn't find the one he was looking for, he slammed the drawer on the toolbox closed.

"Yeah," he grumbled finally, "I did." He pulled open the next drawer. After a quick search he slammed that one too and went back to the first.

"So, what happened?" Soda prodded.

Steve eyed him. "You know what happened Sodapop. Nothing. Nothing happened and nothing will. Not when he is the boss' son. Now he's going to get paid for being here when he ain't been. You know as well as I do he's been writing himself extra hours on his timecard…and we got to work twice as hard when he ain't here. Only thing that happened was that the boss told me to mind my business and get back to work. I need that no-good son-of-a-bitch's help too…I been by myself 'til you showed up. We got so many cars lined up I won't be able to work on the truck like I promised Darry. I'll have to do it tonight."

Soda dropped his head back under the hood when Steve paused to inspect another wrench. "You know I can't help tonight…I'm s'posed to close up here," he said. "And Darry's working for Mrs. Mathews. Him and Two-Bit. Pony can help, though."

I paused, my cigarette halfway to my lips. Up until then I'd been a silent observer in their conversation. I'd followed Soda to work, itching for a Pepsi, and had decided to stay a little while on a whim. It wasn't like there was anything going on at home. 'Sides, I liked watching them work.

But being volunteered to help Steve wasn't what I had in mind. He was already in a bad mood, and I knew Soda saying something like that would just make him even more mad. I didn't do things with Steve. Not without Soda.

Never.

"I don't know Soda…" I started.

Steve glared at me like I'd somehow worked this out with Sodapop on our way to the DX. I hadn't. My idea of a good time didn't include bumming around with Steve Randle.

"You know that kid can't do nothing with cars, Soda. He'd just be in the way." He looked at me again before lowering his head under the hood next to Sodapop's.

I could see just enough of Soda's face to see him glance at me while he spoke low voice to Steve. I didn't catch it all, but I caught enough. "Come on Steve, layoff…you know with Dad gone it's up to us to teach him these things…"

Slowly Steve's eyes moved from the engine to me. He quickly looked away again when he saw me watching him. His jaw twitched then he gruffly cleared his throat. "Fine."

XXX

The sun was setting pale in the west. The vibrant oranges and reds had been becoming less and less over the last few days, and I knew that fall was just around the corner. Most people didn't realize, but the warm sunsets were the first to change with the seasons, even before the leaves on the trees. Wisps of purple-grey clouds crossed the sky, and crickets were beginning to sing in the shadows.

I eyed Steve's setup warily. He had our old Ford pulled up into our yard, one side lifted a little ways off of the ground so we could work easier. The jack was old and rusted; it was probably already old when Dad bought it, but it seemed to be holding up well. Steve's feet stuck out from under the side of the truck while he hollered instructions at me from below it. I twirled a wrench between my fingers, moving it from one side of my hand to the other while trying not to drop it. So far, I'd done nothing but hand Steve whatever tools he'd requested, having been reduced like a four-year-old to being his gopher. I didn't think it was what Sodapop had in mind when he instructed Steve to teach me something, and I said so.

"Yeah, Kid? Well this shit I'm working on now ain't for beginners." He grunted a little and I could hear him turning something beneath the truck. Then he was scooting out feet first until I could see his face.

"Hand that oil pan over here then come here. This part you can help with."

I did what he asked, scooting across the grass and rocks until I was next to him. Dampness from last night's rain was seeping through my clothes and I silently cursed Steve, who had been smart enough-or experienced enough-to be laying on a piece of warped plywood he'd drummed up. I shifted uncomfortably. Steve chuckled.

"Lesson number one: find something to lay on."

"Yeah thanks for the tip, Stevie." If he had been Two-Bit, or even Sodapop, I'd have flicked him in the ear. But I didn't feel much like getting murdered, so I kept my hands to myself and instead just imagined dropping a wrench onto his smug face.

"Quit being a smartass. Now look at this." He pointed to a tub in the truck's undercarriage. "This is where the oil is. And this is the oil pan plug…"

"Steve—"

"You put the catch-pan on the ground here. Then you unscrew this...make sure you're out of the way so the oil don't cover your face…"

"Steve—" I tried again, exasperated.

"Keep ahold of this plug 'cause you'll need it later." He went on, ignoring me like usual.

"Steve. Soda already showed me how to change the oil."

Steve finished twisting the plug and a thick black liquid sprayed from the tub. It ran like an open faucet into the pan below.

"It don't hurt to hear things twice," he said, glaring. "Shut up and I'll teach you something kid. Now, look at this oil. You see how dark it is? And thick? Darry ain't been changing it enough. That can cause problems. Okay now c'mere." He pushed the plug into my hand then wiggled out from under the truck.

In the distance, I could hear the faint cracks and tings of Darry's hammer as he worked a few blocks away. The hits were rhythmic and methodical, so perfectly and evenly spaced that I could set my watch by them, if I had one. Now and again I could hear him hollerin' something at Two-Bit, who was trying to help him fix his momma's roof, but they was too far away to hear what he was yelling about. I had it in my mind though that Two-Bit was being his usual self and was doing more to drive Darry crazy than he was doing of actual work.

Steve bent under the hood and I leaned close like I had seen Sodapop do earlier at the DX. One of his curls had come loose from his hair grease and bobbed against his forehead as he bent forward. The truck rocked just a little when we both leaned in, and I thought for a second it would fall, but that old jack held strong. Steve didn't seem bothered by the movement, so I decided then that wasn't either.

A layer of black oil covered his hand. It moved and cracked like dried mud when he pointed. "You see there? That's the oil filter. Soda show you that too?" I nodded. "Good. I got an extra one from the DX. We'll change that in a minute, then fill her up with the new oil. Climb under and see if she's finished draining. If she is, then put that plug back in so we can get it done with. Make sure it's nice and tight like your girl's…" he coughed. "Never mind."

I'd been in on bull sessions with him and the guys before, so what he said wasn't nothing that I hadn't heard before. I'd heard worse than that, even. But I could still feel my cheeks starting to burn, so I quickly ducked under the truck and did what he said. "It's done!"

I joined him back beneath the hood, and when he pulled out the old filter, he held it up so I could see.

"You see the difference?" He went on to point out the differences between the old and the new, then showed me how to put the new one in.

Sodapop had showed me the basics of how to do an oil change, but surprisingly, I found myself enjoying learning from Steve even more than I had Soda. Steve always did have a special way with cars, and he was real good at explaining things too. To Soda, it didn't really matter if he told me why you did something, as long as he told me that you had to do it. Don't get me wrong, Soda taught me real good, and I'd pick learning from him 'fore I would Steve every time, but I liked to know why things were done the way they were...it helped me understand and remember. I had felt bad asking Soda just why he was doing things how he was every time he had showed me something. He was nice about answering me, but I asked so many times that I was annoying even myself, so eventually, I just shut up and listened.

It wasn't like that with Steve, though. It was almost like he liked teaching someone. He always had been smart, and you could tell just how much when he was explaining to me about how the oil worked in the engine and why it needed to be "clean."

"Okay, kid, put the new oil in. You know how?"

I rolled my eyes. "Geeze, Steve, I ain't that stupid."

He chuckled and waved at the engine. "Well then it's all yours, big shot."

I added the oil.

Then more oil.

And then some more.

Steve's eyebrows drew together, and he frowned. "What the hell? It shouldn't take…"

He dropped to his knees and banged his hand against the ground before scurrying under the truck. "Damnit, Ponyboy, I told you to put the plug in!"

"I did, I…"

"Did you screw it in all the way?" Steve interrupted. "No, you didn't, stupid, 'cause this damn oil pan is overflowing with brand fucking new oil…I thought Soda showed you this!" Steve was angry. So much for enjoying ourselves.

Steve climbed back out from under the truck and looked pointedly at me. He poked me hard in the chest. "You can explain to Darry why he has to pay for double the oil. I'll call Soda and have him bring some home with him. You start working on getting that front tire off so we can change the brake calipers. You can do that can't you?"

He didn't wait for me to reply, only turned, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "stupid fucking smartass" under his breath while he stamped into the house.

Huffing, I found the lug wrench in the grass and slammed it onto the lug nuts. Figures I wouldn't do things right with someone-especially someone like Steve- watching. The truck gently shook with each turn of the bar. It was barely even a movement, but still, I stopped and eyed the jack with suspicion. It seemed a little lower than it had before…

"What're you waiting for, Christmas? Christ, Pony, take off the tire." Steve had appeared behind me.

Together we struggled to pull it off. Steve laid it next to the wheel well, and was already leaned under, prying away the calipers from the wheel hub. "Pony, crawl under here so you can see what I'm doing. It'll be dark soon, we got to move fast."

I eyed the jack again. "I don't know Steve…the jack…"

"That old thing does just fine, Pony. Soda and I have used it a hundred times." Steve was focused on the wheel hub, gritting his teeth as his hands tugged against the caliper.

"I know, Steve" something just didn't feel right, and I wasn't sure. "But it's moving around an awful lot and…"

"…and it will be fine. Now come look."

I crawled under, wedging myself precariously around the jack so I could see what Steve was doing.

He was working hard to release one of the calipers. I could see his face turning red and he grunted a little when he struggled against turning the wrench.

Without warning the bolt loosened and he slipped. His shoulder crashed against the truck.

It rocked.

I decided right then that it most certainly wasn't a good idea for me to be under the truck with nothing but an old rusted jack to stabilize it. I inched backward. "Steve…don't… let me…"

But he wasn't listening. He was already working on the second bolt.

It wasn't turning either.

Before I could move any further, he grabbed a tool that was on the ground behind him- I couldn't see what- and banged it against the caliper.

The sound of metal against metal rang through the air.

Then the world went into slow motion.

Bits of chipped rust fell from the jack. There was a gentle hiss of releasing air, and I had time to think it's slipping before there was a rush of wind and cracking metal, and the jack released its hold.

I pushed my feet against the ground, felt my shoes slip on the wet grass, and knew I wouldn't make it out. There was a strangled cry. And then, very suddenly, the truck was falling.

It slammed against me with a crushing, forceful weight, and the world went dark.

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