A/n: I do not own The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, nor do I own All Along the Watchtower by Bob Dylan. Enjoy. :)
There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.
Steve wanted to kick Two-Bit Mathews in the head. He really did. What the fuck had he even been thinking?
Oh, yeah, goin' to Buck's sounds like a real good fucking idea, son.
He really hadn't thought of actually drinking until he got there and now it was too late. He had didn't have any ride home without Two-Bit, and the next bus stop was a good two miles away.
Steve sighed and opened the door of the bar, looking for his buddy. He knew Two-Bit would be sober, but how sober, he wasn't sure; enough to drive at least. If there was anyone that Steve could give props to, it was Two-Bit. He might not have won Kathy back, but he'd at least been able to control his drinking. But Steve still didn't trust himself with it … not after last time. Wasn't that when his father and Soda had first come along, anyway?
He sighed and pushed the thought away. Making his way to the bar, he was sure to have his eyes peeled for Two-Bit. For all he knew, the guy was upstairs already.
"Steve Randle! Ain't seen you 'round here in a while."
Steve looked up to see Buck grinning at him, his hand extended, and his teeth as yellow as ever. Regardless, he smiled and grasped Buck's hand, shaking it. Buck might have played dirty in races, but he was really an okay guy.
"How's it goin', Buck? I've been around, just taking care of life."
Buck smiled again and nodded sagely. "Life's important, good buddy. You lose it and you ain't living no more."
No shit, he thought. Buck was a good guy, but he was downright stupid sometimes.
Steve took his seat at the end of the bar and looked it up and down. Not too busy at the moment; after all, it was only five o'clock on a Saturday. The bar still had time to fill up. There was a small woman who Steve had seen once or twice in the middle of the bar, and at the very end, a Negro man sat, hunched over a newspaper.
Steve turned to the waitress, realizing it was that Susan girl who he'd seen before.
She turned to him and flashed a small smile. "How can I help you?"
"Hey, Susan, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"Cool, Susan. I like that. Mind getting me a Budweiser?"
"Sure thing, uh …"
"Steve," he said, smiling wryly. He imagined he at least looked better than the last time he'd come.
"Sure thing, Steve."
Steve watched her walk away, forcing his gaze from her rear. He felt a slight pang of guilt at the prospect of cheating on Evie. Sure, he'd fooled around with other girls -- and he still would too but he didn't think he was thinking of Susan in a just "fooling around way."
He was torn out of his mental conflict by the sound of several obnoxious laughs. He knew those laughs, too.
"Shepard, last time I checked, the drinking age was twenty-one. What're you doin' in here?"
Curly Shepard laughed, his dumb smile growing. He really did look like his older brother. He didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.
"Randle, you ain't a day over twenty-one," Curly said.
"You really ain't so dumb, kid. 'Least I'm closer to twenty-one than you. Less'n a month now. But Curly, what're you doin' here anyway? Shouldn't you be in the cooler or something?"
Curly glared. "Mind your own fucking business, Randle, you pussy."
Just as Steve was ready to react he saw Susan slide the beer toward him. He reached for his wallet.
"No need, Steve. By order of Buck."
"What, Buck trying to pick me up or something?" he asked, smiling.
Susan laughed, and her eyes sparkled a bit. She was real pretty.
Steve took a sip of the beer and closed his eyes. You can do this, Steve. One bottle and you're good.
He took another sip, smaller, letting himself savor the flavor. He could do this.
"Hey, Joey, what do you know? Who ever thought we'd find a Negro sittin' in Buck's?"
Steve ground his teeth as he heard Curly chuckle.
"And in your seat, too, Curly. Think we should teach this fella' a lesson?"
"I think we should, Joey."
Steve put the bottle down and cursed them for disturbing his drinking.
"I don't think this is your place to really teach anyone a 'lesson,' Curly. I mean, you're the one who couldn't even pass Wood Shop in school."
"You're one nosy son of a whore, Randle."
Steve laughed and got up. "If we beat your brother's gang once, I can whoop your ass any time. I can do it now, tomorrow, next week. Give me a date and I'll crack your fuckin' neck, Curly. I always liked your brother, but that don't mean I like him enough to let you pick on some poor guy and annoy the shit outta me. Get the hell outta here 'fore I make you, Curly."
Curly began to reach for his pocket, but Steve was faster and twisted his arm until Curly gave out a shriek. When Steve was satisfied with the look of pain on Shepard's face he let go.
Just then, Buck came out from the kitchen and glared at Curly and his friend.
"I thought I told you not to come in here no more, Shepard. You an' your friends ain't welcome here."
Curly glared at Buck, but slowly backed off.
"Fine, I'll get on outta here, but I ain't scared of you. This place is too boring, anyway. No action or nothing."
Steve rolled his eyes and Buck muttered darkly, stalking back to the kitchen.
Turning to the man, Steve extended his hand, about to introduce himself, but slowly withdrew it. Holy shit … Ackley? Was it really him? But, no, Carl Ackley had died in a Zippo raid. Then … how?
The man gave him a puzzled look, but extended his own hand. "John Ackley. I'm just coming through town. Didn't think I'd run into any trouble."
Steve jaw fell slightly as that deep voice came rushing back. He took John Ackley's hand and shook it, remembering another night quite like it where he'd shaken Carl Ackley's hand.
"I don't give a shit what colo' you are, s'long as we get along. You dig it?"
Steve nodded, digging it.
"I mean, some guys ain't never trust a whitey, but I know you ain't all bad. I'll have your back s'long's you got mine. You dig that, too?"
Steve nodded again. He did.
Carl Ackley smiled and spat in his hand then extended it to shake. Steve did the same. They'd sworn on it and there was no going back.
They had the same build and smile, but John's eyes were darker, older than Carl's had been.
"You're Carl's older brother." It wasn't a question; it was a simple statement. He was Carl's brother.
It was John's turn to be shocked. His newspaper fell out of his hand and his hand dropped limply from Steve's. "How'd you know Carl?"
Steve smiled a little. "Lieutenant Carl Ackley. He was a good guy. Got there, gave me my instructions, called me dog shit, and then shook my hand. He was a good man."
"Kid."
Steve looked at John and saw a spark of anger in his eyes. "Huh?"
"Carl was a good kid. He wasn't no man. For Christ's sake, he wasn't even married yet. Engaged, but not married."
"Yeah … I remember. Kitty was her name."
John smiled. "Miss Kitty. Sweet as could be." John smiled a little wider, then slowly frowned. "What'd you do with yourself after you got home. If you don't mind me asking."
For some reason, Steve really didn't mind. "I did drugs, I guess. I mean, I lost my job already, I didn't have nothing. My old man died a few months after I got home and I got myself a place. I'm finally off of the drugs shit."
"What's that bottle, then?"
Steve looked surprised. "Well, I dunno. The last time I drank anything was December. I think I can do just one now. You dig what I mean?"
"Sure do. Had the same problem. But don't drink alone. You dig that? Never trust yourself too much."
Steve smiled a little. "Oh, I ain't alone ever. Always got someone to talk to."
John Ackley nodded and rose from his seat. "Well, I best be going, but it was good meeting you, Randle."
"You, too, John."
"If you're ever in Oklahoma City, look me up. Ackley, Jr."
"I'll do that." Steve extended his hand once more, grasping John's. He wondered briefly if he would have done this still had he never gone to 'Nam. Probably not. Hell, he wouldn't even be talking to John Ackley if he hadn't been drafted.
Steve sighed, knowing just how much would have been different, and walked off to find Two-Bit. He just wanted to get home and there was no damn way he was walking all the way to the bus stop.