DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Outsiders – any character you recognize from said novel is property of S.E. Hinton. I don't get paid diddly squat for writing this.
A/N: If anyone is actually still reading this after my epic hiatus, then thank you. I have no excuses for lack of updates — it was pure mid-fic crisis, so to speak. Terribly sorry for the ridiculous wait. Again, thanks to anyone who hasn't abandoned me yet.
Driving by the last few city lights of Tulsa, into the more rural town of Owasso, Steve began to get a bit apprehensive about taking Evie with him to the drag races. Was that really such a good idea?
"Hey, you girls really sure you wanna go with us? We tend to get pretty tied up in the races — it may not be too fun for y'all," he suggested, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at Evie.
"Of course it'll be fun," Evie replied. "This car racing stuff is kind of cool. I've never been to a big one before. Guys never wanna take us girls anywhere with 'em — we're too dainty or somethin'."
Soda laughed from the back and kicked Steve's seat good-naturedly. "Aw, Stevie's just worried, thinkin' about the last girl he brought out here. She hated it — never went out with him again."
Steve stifled an embarrassed sigh. That wasn't exactly his proudest moment.
"Well, I'm glad for that," Evie said, too quiet for anyone but Steve to properly hear.
Soda patted Steve's shoulder and chuckled again. "No biggie, Steve. Abigail wasn't too happy with me after that either."
"Abigail?" Sandy asked, hitting him lightly on the shoulder.
"She's a distant memory, honey."
She giggled, and they grew quiet.
Steve rolled his eyes.
"You think that Pete Montgomery guy's gonna be there?" he asked Soda. "I'm itchin' to race that kid again. Son of a …" He let himself trail off, concentrating as the roads turned more gravel than paved. He shook his head; he hated these hick towns out of the city.
"Oh, he'll be here," Soda said with a snort of laughter. "He was mighty pissed you beat him in that last one."
"Yeah, and I was mighty pissed he nearly ruined the side of my car. Man, that kid races so crooked you can't tell from his tracks if he's comin' or goin'."
Evie laughed and raised an eyebrow at him. "Plannin' on getting back at him?"
He nodded with certainty. "After I win all the money he has — without messin' up my car. I may or may not have it out with him." He flashed a grin. "Depends on his temperament."
"I'm backin' you up on that one, man. I ain't been in a good fight in too long," Soda said, leaning forward into the front seat.
Steve nodded again in appreciation of his friend's loyalty.
Sandy leaned back in her seat. "You sure that's safe, Soda?"
Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Steve let out a short laugh. He couldn't figure Sandy out. She looked like a tough enough girl, but she was always worrying over stupid stuff.
"Now don't go worryin' about Soda," he told her. "He can hold his own in a fight better than any of them idiotic Brumly boys, especially Montgomery. Pete's about as sharp as a bag full of wet mice when it comes to brawlin' or anything else worth nothin'."
"You sure don't like that guy," Sandy noticed.
Steve shook his head — she didn't seem to understand. He really couldn't fathom how anyone could place such little importance on something like a vehicle. Particularly, his vehicle.
"Well, you sure wouldn't be his biggest fan if he tried to wreck your '58 Buick Hardtop, all souped up with a new exhaust, and the fastest engine this side of the Red River."
He exhaled roughly and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The thought of it still pissed him off.
"But your car's not too bad looking. Sure, it needs a paint job and it's nothing like that red car, but —"
"I took care of most of it," Steve cut in. "She's fine now, it's the —"
"The principle of the thing?" Evie offered.
Steve nodded. "That's what I was gonna say."
Soda leaned back next to Sandy. "Boy howdy, I wish Two-Bit was here. He'd sure have a thing or two to say about y'all finishin' each others sentences already." He grinned his classic grin.
Steve looked at him in the rearview mirror. "Watch it, Sodapop. I'll show off my left-hook on your pretty little face if you ain't careful."
"Hey, all I said was if Two-Bit was here …." He laughed.
Steve couldn't help but laugh in return.
"Who's Two-Bit?" Sandy asked once the boys had quieted down.
"He's our buddy," Soda answered before Steve. "One of our gang."
"The damn goofy one," Steve added affectionately, though he realized afterward his tone may not have sounded too fond. "He's a cool ol' guy," he added for balance.
"You know Kathy's got a thing for him?" Evie asked with a sly smile. "But I wasn't s'posed to tell."
"Well, Two-Bit'll be happy to hear that. He swears she's been in love with him since the other day in the hall," Steve said.
"You can tell him not to be so full of himself — she just thinks he's funny," Evie countered.
Steve laughed.
"Oh, he'll be full of himself no matter what any of us say," Soda said. "I bet'cha he'll be takin' that Kathy girl out by next Friday."
"Yeah, right," Evie said. "She'll deny him at least the first ten times he asks."
Steve and Soda both laughed then, though the latter's was more boisterous.
"He'll have asked her about the thirty-second time by Tuesday," Steve said. He wasn't so upset about Montgomery anymore.
"Ain't that the truth," Soda added, still laughing.
"I'll hafta warn her, then," Evie said, not quite so amused, though not upset, either.
"Aw, don't spoil the poor guy's fun." Steve smiled cheekily.
Evie shook her head at him and looked back out the window, a smile on her face, too.
"We almost there?" Sandy asked, not enjoying being out of the loop.
Steve rolled his eyes. She got on his nerves.
XXX
When they pulled up into the old country town of Skiatook, plenty of cars were already there; people were walking around, smoking, talking, betting, fighting. Steve took in a deep breath; he loved this atmosphere. All they had to be wary of were those small-town cops.
Soda got out of the car after Steve and clapped him on the back. "Let the good times roll, man."
Evie walked over and grabbed Steve by the hand, which was a little embarrassing for about a second, but he enjoyed it all the same. She looked the slightest bit intimidated, which was different, and Steve liked reassuming his role as the most confident person he knew.
"Randle, Curtis."
Steve and Soda turned to see who had addressed them.
A pale, black-haired figure emerged from behind a cloud of cigarette smoke, obviously thinking he was tough shit.
Tim Shepard wasn't as cool as he thought he was.
"Wasn't expectin' to see you two here," Shepard said, eyeing them. He and Steve still held somewhat of a beef with each other, because of a past double car theft experience. It was really all Dally's fault, but still.
"If you were tryin' to keep this thing a secret, you shouldn't of told your stupid brother," Steve replied somewhat coldly. He looked around; there were definitely a lot of people here, probably more than Shepard wanted. Too large crowds could draw in the fuzz quicker than anything.
Soda chuckled, and put his arm around Sandy.
Tim sighed, dropping the tough guy act for now. "He's a goddamn idiot most of the time. Can't keep his mouth shut for nothin'."
Steve laughed. There was no beef anymore. For the time being, anyway.
"Dally around?" he asked, looking through the crowd. Looking for Curly rather than Dallas, Steve figured.
"He didn't come with us," Soda answered, "but if all of y'all are out here, he'll probably find his way over."
Tim nodded, and spotted his brother. "I got some business to take care of. I'll talk to y'all later." He nodded in goodbye first at Steve, then Soda, and walked off angrily.
"Why doesn't he want you here?" Evie asked. "You guys got a problem or something?"
"Nah," Soda replied for him. "Shepard don't like havin' Steve at the races he's running. Steve wins 'em all and it ends up costin' him money."
Steve nodded, a smirk on his face. Tim would never admit it, but it was true. Crowds may have been a problem, but what he really hated was having Steve for competition.
"Come on," he said dramatically, "let's go find Montgomery."
"Suspense!" Soda said, his voice painted with sarcastic humor, as he and Sandy followed Steve and Evie through the crowd.
XXX
"I ain't racin' for pinks," Pete said with a look of caution as Steve approached him.
Steve smiled, proud of his ability to intimidate. He couldn't figure out quite why, but for some reason he felt more comfortable and confident while at a drag race than he did just about anywhere else. He remembered, the one time Soda brought Ponyboy along to a big race, the kid had called him cocky. He shook his head at the memory; Ponyboy'd never quite understand. Pony was a real smart kid, but he seemed to act like he knew everything about everybody, Steve included. Sodapop just chalked it up to his age. It had the great potential to be annoying all the same.
"Oh, we ain't interested in that old wreck you call a car, Montgomery," he responded condescendingly.
Pete got a little offended then. "Hey, that thing you're drivin' ain't exactly a hotrod, either."
"We'll see about that after I smoke you, man." Steve pulled two five dollar bills out of his pocket — bills he'd been saving for the last couple of weeks — and Soda handed him a few dollars as well. He held the money out in front of Pete, waiting for his usual squirmy reaction.
His eyebrows puckered together slightly, but he took out three five dollar bills from his back pocket, holding them out as well.
"Well, looks like we got a race a-brewin' here, huh, boys?" David Schumacher — one of Shepard's gang — had approached them, and rested one arm nonchalantly on Pete's shoulder.
"Think so," Pete answered, shifting a little.
"Great, great," David said, swiftly grabbing the money from their outstretched hands.
He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and grabbed a pencil he had tucked behind his ear. He scanned the paper for a second, and then scribbled something which could not have been legible.
"All right — Randle, Montgomery, y'all'll be racin' after O'Brien and Jenner down there," he pointed to his left, "on that County Road 101. Remember, these are old country roads, fellas, so your car's gonna end up dirty, if not wrecked. This race ain't long, about a quarter of a mile. The road loops around about half way through an' brings you back over here, on the right side — that's where you'll finish. What do we got here, thirty bucks? Four buck entry fee, that leaves, what, twenty-two?"
He scribbled something else on his paper and put the money in the zipper bag he kept in his jacket with the rest of the bets.
"Now go line up; y'all's race'll be startin' soon," David finally finished, and walked off to take someone else's bet.
"Man, I don't like Shepard bein' so damn organized about all this. Fuckin' bookies? Jesus …," Pete muttered and went back to his car.
Soda laughed as Pete walked away. "Them Brumly boys ain't go no class. What's a drag race without bookies?" He grinned. "Tim is pretty serious about this stuff, huh?"
Steve shrugged. "Serious business. Come on, let's get goin."
XXX
"You still so sure you don't mind hangin' around all these greasy hoods?" Steve asked Evie as she looked around at the myriad of greasers getting ready to race.
"Stop bugging me about it, Steve. I can handle myself just fine." She smiled sweetly at him. "Now go race your car so Sandy and me can jump around and yell for you."
"Ya really gonna jump around?" he asked with a smirk.
She rolled her eyes. "Just go already!"
Steve got in the driver's seat and Evie backed up to a safer distance.
"Hey, Soda!" he yelled through the open window. "Want shotgun?"
"Hell yeah I do!" Soda responded with a pump of his fist. He looked at Sandy. "You mind?"
"Go ahead; I'll watch you with Evie."
"Thanks, babe." He rushed over and climbed into shotgun.
Steve revved the engine as Pete pulled his car up to the starting line.
"Whoo!" Soda yelled, getting pumped. "You gonna let me drive the next race?"
"If you promise not to wreck my car I might let you."
He shoved Steve into the door. "I've never wrecked in my life, man."
Laughing, Steve shoved him back. "Except that time two years ago when you ran into your neighbor's car backing out of the fuckin' garage."
Soda put on a false look of annoyance. "I was fourteen."
He shrugged. "A wreck is a wreck, man."
"What about you? You crashed your car racin' Pete not even a year ago."
Steve's look of annoyance wasn't false. "Like hell I did — that bastard went and slammed his fuckin' Ford into me half way into the race — I had nothin' to do with that shit."
"A wreck is a wreck, man," he laughed.
"I'll kick your ass you don't shut your mouth, Sodapop." He punched him in the shoulder. "Swear to God, I'll —"
"Y'all ready to race?" some girl — a real whorish-looking one — yelled from in front and in between the two cars.
Both he and Pete revved their engines in response.
"Ready!" she yelled again, raising her arms in the air.
Steve tightened his grip on the steering wheel, focusing himself. All of sudden he felt higher than he ever did when he actually was high. This was the kind of stuff that made life worth living, even if it lasted only a few minutes. Racing a car was better than sex, almost. At least it happened more often.
The girl made eye contact with both of them, and Steve adjusted himself in his seat.
"Go!"
And then nothing else existed, save for the car Steve sat in and the road he was speeding down.
He vaguely heard Soda let out another whoop, and he knew he was light-years ahead of Montgomery already. He pushed the pedal to the floor, speeding up and took off around the curve.
Looking out the side view mirror, Pete wasn't even in sight.
"That Brumly boy's eatin' your dust, man!" Soda said, stamping his foot.
When the finish line came into view, Pete managed to catch up a little so he was, at the very least, on Steve's radar.
Not that it mattered much.
Doing eighty, he crossed the finish line and then some, pulling to an abrupt stop before running into a group of people watching at the end of the road.
"Goddamn, he ain't even finished yet! Look at that, he's comin' up now, still actin' like he's got a chance to win." Soda clapped Steve on the shoulder. "Way to go, man."
Steve grinned and shook Soda's hand. "Knew I'd smoke him, no question."
"Steve, move the —"
Pete Montgomery deliberately slammed into the back of Steve's car. Hard.
The feeling of ecstasy that had accompanied Steve throughout the race was soon replaced by shock, anger, and more anger.
"I'll fucking kill him. I'll fucking kill him."
Ohh, dun dun dun.
I think I used about 893745 dashes in this chapter.
Again, I'm so sorry about how long it took me to finish this chapter. (Maybe slightly longer chapter than usual helps to make up for it?) Thanks a ton for reading! Considering I haven't been writing in a while, I might be rusty, so I'd appreciate any comments/concrit you have!