OoO

Today - 12:23am

The convenience store clerk barely glances up as we enter. He's reading a newspaper and smoking. We wind through the aisles of the small store, passing a rack of fishing poles and colorful lures. "Who does that?" Joe asks.

"Does what?" I glance at the lures. "Fish?"

"Yeah, I've never understood it."

"It takes patience," I say. "A lot of it." My dad had taken Darry, Soda and I fishing our entire lives and the only one who could never sit through it was Sodapop. It was church or the drive-in all over again.

Joe fingers a red and white bobber. "What's this doodad?"

A thought dawns. My mouth quirks into a smile. "Joe, you ain't never been fishing before have you?"

"Nah," he says, entering a new aisle. "I'm from Chicago, remember. A city boy."

"City don't have nothin' to do with it."

"True," he says. "But bet you having a dad around helps."

"It does," I admit. Joe opens a bottle of Pepto-Bismol right there and takes a long swig. I raise an eyebrow. "Indigestion?"

"Something like that." Joe touches the middle of his stomach and continues to chug. Finished, he wipes his mouth and sticks a bag of Skittles in his pocket. I don't bother mentioning to pay for that, instead meandering through the stands of food, checking out labels and paperbacks. I pass by a copy of Catcher in the Rye and brush my fingers over the leafy pages.

"Hey," I ask Joe, randomly remembering his earlier comment. "What did you mean by that?"

"By what? Be specific, kid. I ain't in the business of remembering."

"You know…what you said earlier…that I reminded you of a young Holden Caulfield."

"Oh." Joe opens another bottle of Pepto, the cap cracking, and shrugs. "Because you're whiny."

There's a beat, then— "I am not."

"Sure you are."

"Man, I am n—"

"It's not a bad thing. I understand you have your issues."

I scowl. "When someone's trying to steal my brother's truck I reserve the right to—"

Joe drops to his knees. The bottle of Pepto sloshes, pink overflowing on the floor.

"Joe?" I frown. "What're you—"

His hand darts up to drag me down on the ground with him. Before I can say anything else, he puts a finger to his lips and points at the register. A masked man is brandishing a gun, the cashier with his hands on the air.

I reach for the Pepto and take a swig of my own.

OoO

Today - 12:25am

Steve stops to refill his tank. Soda offers him a few dollars for gas but Steve waves him off. I start to yawn but cut it short when I catch Two-Bit watching me. He cocks a brow. The smirk plays on his lips.

"Late night for you, Superman?"

Soda pokes his head around the side of the truck. He laughs. "He probably can't remember the last time he stayed up past ten, can ya, Dar?"

Feeling old and picked on, I stick my hands in my pockets, mutter, "Sodapop, I'll remember this the next time you have a late night and don't want to get up for work in the morning."

"You still do what your dad did?" Steve asks, glancing my way.

I nod, look at Soda. "I got a gallon of water with your name written all over it." My breath hangs white in the chill winter air. I think of the warm house, of my brother, and wish to hell I could just find him.

Soda shrugs. "Lucky for me, I ain't gotta work tomorrow."

"Yeah," Two-Bit says, stretching his arms to the sky. He does some side bends and then punches the air. "The whole unemployment thing is working out just peachy for me too."

"Lucky for us," Steve says, capping his gas tank, "Tomorrow's Saturday. Pony picked the right day to go missing."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, irked at Steve's choice of words. "He ain't missing."

"Yeah, he's just being his usual irresponsible self."

Soda's smile is a tight one. "I'm gonna make you walk home, Stevie."

"It's my truck," he says with a snort. "Gimme a break, Soda."

"I don't care." I stick a hand out. "Give me the keys, I'm driving." I have to do something, to be proactive. The waiting is driving me crazy.

Reluctantly, Steve gives me the keys but continues his rant. "What I don't get is why we just don't let him come home on his own. You talked to him, Darry – you know he's alive. He's not kidnapped or in the gutter or on the lam. He's just being Ponyboy."

"Because Steve," I snap, in no mood to get lectured on the whereabouts of my brother, "I want to nab him before the cops have a chance to." Soda shoots me a wince. "All I know about tonight is that he pulled a gun on someone, started a bar fight and stole a truck…and I'm not looking to find him in a jail cell when tomorrow rolls around."

"I hate to break it to you guys," Two-Bit says, climbing into the truck and honking the horn, "but it's already Saturday."

OoO

Today - 12:28am

I flinch every time the robber shouts something at the cashier. Joe and I are crouched down in the aisle, behind one of the shelves filled with cans of soup and beef jerky and Vienna sausages. I scowl at the rows of food. Of course this would happen. Life seems to be pretty damn hilarious tonight. Or is it tomorrow already? I smear hands down my face and groan.

"Give me your shoes."

"What?"

Joe's pointing at my boots. "Your shoes. They look heavy."

"What're you gonna do? Use 'em as a paperweight?" Seeing the look in Joe's eyes, I shake my head. "No!" I whisper. "No way. Don't even think about it."

"We're just gonna sit back and let this place get robbed?"

"You have a gun, use that."

"It's not loaded, remember?"

I roll my eyes. "Why don't you just bluff your way out then? It worked pretty well on me…" My eyes widen as he shrugs in what seems to be agreement. "No, Joe," I hiss. "I was just kidding. Don't you da—"

"Hey, what the hell…"

Joe reaches back and pulls the .45 I didn't know he had been carrying out of his waistband. I make a grab, clutching the edge of his shirt, ripping the arm up to the elbow. The strands of fabric flow loose and Joe stands before I can hold him still or shut him up.

"This might not be the best time but I'm just jonesin' for a SLURPEE," Joe loudly announces, standing in the middle of the aisle. The gun dangles loose, next to his side. I cover my mouth with my hands, mortified.

"What's the flavor-of-the-month, guys?"

The robber hollers. A shot rings out and Joe ducks. It ricochets somewhere across the store. "Well. Should have expected that." I start crawling across the floor. "Where are you going?" Joe asks.

"Away from you," I whisper, matter-of-fact. "You're gonna get me killed."

"What about tonight? It's not over."

"Deal didn't include shootouts at the Corner Store." Joe reaches out to snag my leg. "Knock it off." He slips my left boot off. Flips me onto my back to steal the right one. "Hey!" I slam a fist against the linoleum floor in protest. "C'mon, man…"

"Watch this." Joe pops up and whips one of my boots at the robber. I hear what sounds like an entire shelf of tin cans falling over. I squeeze my eyes shut, opening them in time to see Joe launch the other boot.

This time it sounds like it makes its mark; boot hitting flesh. Squatting slightly I peer through the shelves. The boot Joe has launched causes the robber to get knocked off his feet. He's sitting on his ass, blinking in confusion and before he can move the clerk hops over the counter, rips the phone off the wall – cord and all – and smashes it once against the side of the robber's face, knocking him out cold.

Joe throws his hands up, yelling at the cashier, "Now how're you gonna call the cops, huh buddy?"

Exhaling, I stand and run a hand through my hair. The robbery's over as soon as it had started. I'm impressed. "Glory, Joe..."

Throwing me a smug smile, Joe twirls the gun around his finger like a cowboy in a western. "Apparently this was not needed in the battle of wills. So you see Ponyboy, the next time you refuse someone shoes, just remember—"

The gun goes off, leaving me with a searing pain across my left bicep. I sink to the ground.

"Well, I'll be a sonofabitch," Joe says.

OoO

Today - 12:31am

Steve has stopped his bitching, staying contritely quiet but now it looks to be Two-Bit's turn.

"You know," he says, rubbing his stomach. "I'm mighty hungry." No one says anything and he looks at Soda. "I mean, have you eaten since dinner? Normally I'd be asleep by now and wouldn't have the slightest idea that my stomach is craving nutritional goodness, but now that I'm up…well I'd kinda like a bite to eat." He holds both hands out to the side in a kind of who's-with-me? gesture. "I mean, is anyone else a starvin' Marvin?"

I grit my teeth and keep driving.

"I could eat," Soda says. I give him a frown and he hangs his head sheepishly. "C'mon, Dar…I am kinda hungry."

"Yeah, we all didn't get to eat a four-course meal with their date tonight. They had dessert too," Two-Bit tells Sodapop. "I think it was something choco—"

"Okay, okay," I say between clenched teeth. "We can stop."

"Diner, three o'clock, Dar," Steve points out.

I swing into the parking lot and cut the engine, ready and willing to get out of the cramped confines of Steve's pickup truck.

OoO

Today - 12:35am

"It just grazed you," Joe is saying, eyes glued to my arm.

"Really?" I snap, "Because I was under the impression that a gunshot was a gunshot. I didn't know there were different criteria." I suck in a deep breath and tilt my head back. Keep my right hand against my left bicep. The blood flows warm and the ceiling sways.

"Don't pass out on me, Ponyboy," Joe gives me a shake.

"I ain't planning too." I give him a glare then glance down at my arm. "Can we, uh, maybe do something about this?"

"Yeah. I'll get it fixed…" Joe glances around, stands and runs off into another aisle. There's a loud crash and then five cans of soda start rolling my way underneath the stands. Then he's back, holding a roll of Duct Tape and a shammy. "Here."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"I never kid." Cushioning the shammy against my bicep, Joe pulls a long strip off the roll of duct tape. "Now believe me Ponyboy, this hurts me worse than it hurts you."

"Somehow I doubt that," I say dryly as he dips his head to bite the piece of tape in half, severing it from the roll. I squeeze my eyes shut as he starts wrapping, loose, yet tight. Round and round my arm the duct tape goes.

"We'll clean it later," Joe says, "After we get outta here." I nod, eyes still shut. I feel woozy but steady. There's chatter from the front of the store; the cashier has the phone working and he's on with the cops.

I open my eyes. Joe's surveying his work. He nods and then slaps my cheek lightly. "You okay? You good? Then, let's get the hell gone."

We leave through the back door. I grab a bottle of aspirin on the way out.

OoO

Today - 12:40am

We claim a booth at the back of the diner. Two-Bit greedily flips through the menu, while Sodapop and Steve chain-smoke. Somewhere in the distance a siren sounds but nobody pays it any attention.

"Chicken fried steak," Two-Bit announces, eyes scanning his options. "No, no, cheeseburger with fries…no—"

"You got 15 minutes, Two-Bit," I say as the waitress approaches. "Get something and eat it quick." I order black coffee. The waitress patiently takes Two-Bit's order and when she turns to Sodapop she does a double-take.

"What're you doin' back here, doll?" She props an arm on her hip. "Come back for more pie?"

Soda frowns. "Back here?"

"Yeah, you were here…oh, maybe 15 minutes ago with—"

I start at the waitress's words. "That wasn't him," I say, causing her to look further confused. If anyone had told me years ago that Ponyboy and Soda could be doubles of each other I wouldn't have believed it. Tonight's proving differently.

"Where'd he go? The kid that was here?"

"They left in a hurry…kid went across the street to the convenience store…"

Soda's sliding out of the booth before I can. Two-Bit moans his protest at an empty stomach before following the three of us out. Steve slides to a stop in the middle of the crosswalk. "Oh, shit."

Across the street, the parking lot's lit up with the sirens of cop cars and an ambulance. "Not again," Soda mutters, breaking into a run.

OoO

Today - 12:51am

"Take a sip of this." Joe hands me the bottle of Jack and I take a deep gulp. He lets me keep the bottle.

He peers at me. "Better?"

"Yeah," I suck in a breath, watch the road. Snow has started to fall. "I'm cool."

"You know," Joe says, "you take a bullet with grace."

"Thanks," I mutter. Sitting up, straining against the seatbelt, I screw the cap off the aspirin bottle, pull out the cotton balls and then swallow five pills. I wash them down with the whiskey. Breathe through the sting of the alcohol. "I'll remember that the next time I play cowboys and Indians."

Joe barks out a laugh. Then he sighs. "Tell me your address, Pony and I'll take you home. It's been a long night."

I blink. I take another stiff drink.

OoO

Today - 12:59am

We hang back from the scene but we can hear the clerk talking to the cops. Something about a stick-up and then a guy who – in the clerks' own words – singlehandedly took out the robber. "He threw the boot at him," he says. The cop nods and hands the clerk something wrapped in plastic, asking him to take a look. After a few minutes, the cop gets called away, leaving the clerk holding the bags.

Soda squints. "Stay here," he says and runs off before I can ask him where he's going.

"Don't lose him either," Steve grumbles, stony-faced. He zips his jacket up. Lights a smoke. "What's with all your brothers running off?"

"Don't ask me," I say, feeling tired.

"It's like trying to find a wild goose chase in a haystack," Two-Bit says. He's wearing that ridiculous hat that makes him look like some kind of mountain man.

Steve raises a dark brow. Looks at me. "You wanna explain it to him?"

I shake my head and watch Soda sidle up to the clerk. He opens his hands, gestures and starts talking fast, his voice too low for me to hear. The clerk keeps nodding, breaks into a smile and then laughs. I have to give it to Soda – he can make anyone laugh.

Soda points to the items the clerk's holding. The clerk opens the plastic bag and Soda eyes its contents. He mouths something and then glances pointedly at the cop whose talking about five feet away to another officer.

Without hesitation the clerk gives the bag to Soda and then he's running back to us. "Ponyboy's boots," he says, smiling like he just won the lottery.

I groan.

Steve ashes his smoke. "Buddy, did you just steal evidence?"

OoO

Today - 1:00am

"Well."

"Well…"

"There you go, Ponyboy. Home sweet home." Joe nods towards my house, which lies just outside the comfort of the warm truck. He's parked on the curb, letting the truck idle.

The liquor sloshes in my stomach. The world seems blurrier than it did a few hours ago. I hand Joe the bottle of Jack. "Here."

"Holy Christ—you guzzled this." Joe shakes the bottle. "Feelin' fine now, ain't ya?" I nod and Joe laughs. "Go on, go home."

I put my hand on the door handle, suddenly shy. "But what about you?"

"What about me?" Joe squints in the dark, the streetlamp casting a yellow glow in the cab of the truck. "I had a blast tonight, Ponyboy. Now don't you worry about it."

"But—but don't you—it's still early—"

"You already got shot…" Joe gives me his token smirk, somewhere between amusement and annoyance. "I say that's grounds for calling it a night."

"It's just a graze." I smile crookedly and pop the door open.

"Get outta here," Joe says.

Climbing out, I give him a last wave, and stumble up to the house. And I'm nearly there. I have my hand on the knob, about to turn it, when I remember the entire reason why I've been tagging along with Joe.

Go on, Pony, the sober part of brain urges. Go back.

"Oh. Oh!"

The truck pulls away from the curb, the engine revving. I dart down the steps, falling once, but catching myself. "Wait! Joe!" The blink of the taillights shines red as the truck halts in the middle of our street. I run into the road, breath tight. Then the truck reverses, fishtailing and skidding. I hop back onto the sidewalk. It spins around and slams into our mailbox post. The metal top of the mailbox goes flying.

"I'll pay for that," Joe says, rolling down his window.

I scoop up the mailbox, an idea brewing. "Stay here. Don't go anywhere."

Inside the house, I dump the mailbox on the kitchen table, a few letters skittering out. I go to the hall closet, open it, and grab what's been there for the last 10 years, grab a few things from my bedroom. Then I scribble a note to Darry on the back of the newspaper in black marker. Grabbing up my cache I've collected, I rush out of the house, accidentally knocking over the coat rack in my drunken haste.

Joe's still waiting on the curb. His black eyes glint as I climb inside. I hold up the tackle box I grabbed from the closet. "Thought of something you haven't done yet."

OoO

Pardon typos.

As always, thanks for the read and reviews. You all are so amazing.

Probably one chapter left, folks. I told you this was a short, fun one.

XO,

FeistyFeist