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Last Night – 7:16pm
I'm out of the truck and ready to run. "Stay away from me," I shout. "Just leave me the hell alone."
"Ponyboy, c'mon…"
"I don't understand any of this," I mutter, rubbing my temple like Darry does when he's fed up with me. I can feel a headache coming on and needing some aspirin soon.
"Do you really understand anything these days? What about that Clockwork Orange book? That was just incomprehensible."
"What?" I hold a hand up, out. "Jesus, man…"
"Okay, okay. Look, I'm sorry, I resorted to less than…appropriate tactics to—"
"Kidnap me? Prod me with a gun?"
"All of those sound so harsh when you put it like that." I cross my arms and glare. Joe sighs. "Get in the truck, Ponyboy. I'll take you home." He moves a few paces, stops and turns back when I don't follow. "I swear. No tricks."
After a reluctant war with myself, I get back in the truck, wondering if this is enough to give me a get-out-of-jail-free card with Darry.
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Last Night – 7:21pm
I zip my hoodie up as Joe starts the truck and the drive back into Tulsa. He has the gun stuck under the thigh of his left leg, making me doubt it's unloaded. It's making me nervous.
"I told you before, I ain't gonna shoot you, kid." Sighing, Joe hands me the gun. I hold it limply, confused. He nods. "Go on. Put it away. You're about as nervous as all get out."
Joe sighs again. "You know, you kind of ruined my night, Ponyboy."
"I ruined your night?" With a glare at Joe, I grip the gun with force and punch the glove box open, fixing to shove the weapon away. "Hell, that's the lousiest excuse I've ever h—"
Pill bottles tumble out like an avalanche. Joe stiffens but doesn't say anything. Gingerly, I pick one up, examining the label. Doctor prescribed medication for some hard-to-pronounce drug. I give Joe a look.
"Are these drugs?"
"You might say that."
"Are they illegal?"
"No."
I read the label again and it dawns on me. "Are you sick?"
"I am." The truck bounces, Joe's hands clinging tight to the steering wheel.
It's the last night of my life; I wanted to spend it with someone remotely interesting.
"Joe…"
"Oh, look who's paying attention now…"
"I wasn't aware there'd be a quiz at the end of this." Annoyed, I throw the bottle at him. It strikes the window, exploding, raining a hail of white pills across the cab of the car. Some tinkle down the dash, disappearing into the motor. If Steve were here he's sock me for that. There's a long silence, then—
"Sorry," I say, immediately feeling shitty. "You probably needed those."
"Not tonight."
We pass the DX; it's dark except for its neon flashing sign. Again, the pit of worry stirs in my gut. I sit up straighter, picking at the sleeve of my jacket. "Joe…earlier you were saying something about your 'last night'…you ain't planning on…?" I let myself linger in case I'm wrong. Hoping I am.
He doesn't say anything, instead continuing to drive. The light from the streetlamps flicker through the windows, highlighting Joe's pensive face. It's thin and a bit pale, but instead of seeming sickly, he looks dangerous. Kind of like Dal did, except with an odd sense of humor tossed into the mix. He looks like Steve McQueen; cool, smug and smart.
Joe slows at a stoplight. "I'll drop you back at the dump."
"No."
"No?"
"Look, let's do your thing. Let's—let's hang out. Whatever you wanted to do tonight…"
My heart's beating fast. As angry as I am at this guy, I can tell he needs someone. People do strange shit when they're desperate and kidnapping someone to spend some time with them definitely qualifies as weird shit. Besides, I'm already in the doghouse with Darry, might as well avoid going home for as long as I can.
Nodding, Joe chuckles into one hand. "You're a weird kid."
"I'mweird?"
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Last Night – 7:49pm
The restaurant is uncomfortable and stuffy. I loosen my tie, listening to Rachel chatter about her family. While I find myself liking her, I notice she likes to talk. An awful lot.
"…my sister Margie thinks San Francisco has the right idea and what do I say to that? It's pure chaos over there. I can't believe the police let them act like that. I like it here in Tulsa…easy and simple. What do you think, Darrel? I simply can't understand how…"
I reach for my beer, taking a sip as the waiter steps up. "Excuse me, Mr. Curtis? There's someone here for you. A Keith Mathews?"
I choke, catching myself in time to keep the beer from spilling down the front of my shirt. "What? Where?" I twist in my chair and over my shoulder Two-Bit's standing at the hostess stand, chatting up the young girl working it. He's in a jacket wearing a furry aviator cap.
Rachel's frowning. "Is everything okay?"
"I don't know," I mutter. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm sorry…I'll only be a minute." I pull the napkin off my lap and drop it on my chair.
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Last Night – 7:52pm
"Just one night of doing whatever I want."
"You wanted to hold someone at gun point? I mean, I guess I can see how that would be a life's ambition but I don't really get that attraction."
Joe rolls his eyes but continues his chatter. "I'm thinking something like drag racing or maybe even running with the bulls, although that would require a plane and whole a lotta dough. C'mon, kid, where's your sense of adventure? Haven't you ever just wanted to see where the night takes you? " At my stare, Joe places a hand across his heart. "I promise not to do anything too illegal besides, you can always blame it on me in the end since—"
I hold a hand out, silencing him. "Okay, okay, fine. But I wanna know, what's wrong with you?"
"Stick with me and I'll tell you."
"Joe—"
"Poker," Joe says. "One game of poker – the finest Texas Hold 'Em we can find— a drink or two and I'll tell ya. Then, if you're still not having fun, after I've exhausted all my best efforts, I'll drive your pansy-ass home."
"Poker? That's the best you can do?"
"Why? You got a better idea?"
The grin creeps up my face. "Not yet."
Joe smirks. "Okay, so…" he sticks a hand under his seat and pulls out a bottle of Jack. "Drink on it?"
The look on his face makes me agree. I shouldn't but I do.
I take a long swig, grimacing. Finished, I hand him the bottle and he drinks. I laugh to myself. I'm sitting in a truck with a suicidal stranger drinking Jack Daniels in the dead of winter.
Yeah, I've been in worse positions.
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Last Night – 7:52pm
"What's goin on, Keith?" I spin him around and shove him back near the coat rack to avoid the gawking stares of other guests.
"Hey, hey, we're in a nice restaurant, figured I'd use my good name." Two-Bit peers around me, whistling. "This is a pretty fancy place, Dar. I see you put on your best pants for it."
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I stare at him. "Two-Bit. What're you doing here? You got about a minute to spit it out."
"Right-o, Darry. I see you're in a hurry and I'll get to the point. So…I was strolling down Main Street tonight, not more than an hour or so ago, and having picked up a case of PBR at one of our finest convenience stores – can you believe they took my beer from me when I walked in this joint…"
While Two-Bit rattles, I think about all the reasons he'd possibly be here. While Two-Bit may be stupid, he's not an inconsiderate ass, which leads me to one conclusion. I stop him. "Is everything okay with the boys?"
"Hell, I was gonna ask you that, Darry." Any smile that was on Two-Bit's face is now gone. "I saw Ponyboy earlier and it was weird—"
"Sir?" The waiter tugs my sleeve. "Your date wanted me to ask you if you'd like dessert." He gives me a pointed look.
"Yes, I—Jesus Ch—" I glance at Two-Bit, caught between him and the waiter. I point at him. "I'll be home in an hour. I want to talk to you there."
"Sure, Dar."
The hostess hands Two-Bit his confiscated six-pack of PBR. "Your beer, sir."
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Last Night – 8:30pm
I place both palms on the dash, staring at the shoddy unmarked building in front of me. "We shouldn't be here."
Joe hops out of the truck, walks in front of it and opens my door. "Why not? Afraid of slumming?"
I hook a finger toward the dark, where a lone blown out streetlight stands. "This ain't slumming, I'm a greaser, believe me, I know slumming. This is sleaze."
"It's all a front," Joe says as I slink out, resigned. "Finest poker in town. You gotta know the password to get in." He strides away, crossing the railroad tracks and I hurry after him, flipping my collar up against the cold night air.
"So what is it?"
"What's what?"
"The password?"
"How the hell should I know?"
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Last Night – 8:55pm
"Lover boy finally made it home," Steve drawls.
"Where is he?" I ask Sodapop, shutting the front door and stepping inside.
Soda, sitting on the couch with Steve, shakes his head. "I ain't got the slightest."
"He's not back yet?"
Soda's eyes move. Two-Bit comes out of the bathroom wearing an old shower cap. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Dar."
"What is that?" Steve asks.
"What?" Two-Bit pats the plastic cap. "I got bored."
"You got bored? You go into the bathroom to accomplish a task, Two-Bit. How can you get bored?"
"I just get bored, Steve. I shouldn't have to explain that to the likes of you."
"Two-Bit," I snap. "What the hell's goin on?"
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Last Night – 9:02pm
"And you didn't know this guy?" I scratch the description of the car on a notepad: Impala, pea-green, broken headlight.
"No. Never seen 'im before."
"But Ponyboy looked okay?" Soda asks.
"Yeah. I think so." Two-Bit pauses. "He waved at me and that was about it. I mean, how am I supposed to know? The kid always looks slightly panicky."
Soda sighs, his face dark. "Two-Bit, I'll strangle you before Darry gets to it." Soda meets my eyes. "Pone promised you, Dar. He wouldn't just not come home."
Brow knotting together, I stuff my hands in my pockets, trying to stamp down my nerves. "So, where is he then?"
"More importantly," Steve says, speaking up. "Just where exactly is your truck?"
Two-Bit removes the shower cap from his head as Sodapop shoots Steve the bird.
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Last Night – 9:08pm
Joe gets us in.
I don't know how he does it but after being led downstairs by a heavy-lidded woman with a gruff bark, we're sitting around a poker table with four other guys. One of them looks vaguely familiar but I can't recall from where. He keeps squinting at me from behind a pair of round glasses. The place reminds me of some sort of Prohibition-era lounge: dark, smoky and the kind of joint where illicit activities take place.
Soda's warned me about this place. "The old shed down by the railroad tracks," is how he'd often describe it. "Darry talks about it, Two-Bit jokes," he had said, "but I've actually been in there. For real, Pone. And don't you ever let me catch you there. They're serious about their poker. They'll kill for it."
"Soda, you know I don't play poker," had been my excuse. Even now, 18, no longer the 15-year-old he had warned, I still feel guilty.
"You any good at this?" Joe asks me lowly.
I shrug. "I've had my moments."
Joe chuckles and shuts up as the dealer starts sending out cards. One card, two card, three card—that's when I see it. The pair of aces up the sleeve of Joe's leather jacket.
I fan my cards out in my cupped palm and keep my jaw tight. Real tight.
OoO
Thank you, thank you for all the reviews and comments. I truly appreciate all the feedback.
That said, please keep reading and reviewing.
As always, pardon typos.
XO,
Feisty
