A/N: I usually try and post new chapters much earlier in the day than this, but it's still the 15th so it still counts as on time, right? Right?
Of all the places I expected to be on a Tuesday night, a jail cell wasn't one of them. The day certainly didn't start out that way, though. I went through my usual routine of treating patients, a few pulled muscles here, a couple of cases of the flu there. I managed to treat all of them without getting blood or puke on me, and even got to take a long lunch. I had finished my paperwork just before 6 and was eager to get out of there, but not before Martha asked me the same question she asked me every day.
"Got any plans tonight?"
I laughed. "Martha, how many times has the answer to that question been yes?"
"You had that family dinner once, and that party last week. Other than that…no, I don't suppose you have plans very often."
"And it's going to stay that way," I said.
"How about you Rebecca?" she asked.
I turned to see my coworker rounding the corner, struggling to juggle a large stack of clipboards in her hands.
"I've got a date," she set the clipboards down and turned to me, "with your nephew, actually."
"Darrel?"
She nodded. "He managed to get my number the other night, something most guys aren't able to get from me. We're having dinner tonight."
"Oh, to be young and in love," reminisced Martha. Rebecca discreetly rolled her eyes at me before grabbing her coat to leave.
"Anything I should know about him for tonight?" she asked.
"You probably know him better than I do, to be honest," I admitted. She gave me a look of curiosity and seemed to want to say something, but ultimately must've decided to drop it before saying goodbye to Martha and me.
"You think I made a mistake by unintentionally setting up my coworker with my nephew?"
"Not necessarily. But you could be making a mistake in your own relationship. When's the last time you called your wife?"
I knew I had shared too much with Martha. She may be nosy, but she was right. It had been a few too many days.
"Fair point, Martha. Fair point."
— — — — — — — — — —
I spent the first 18 years of my life avoiding alcohol like the plague. Whether it was because my mother insisted it was one of the many ways the devil could overtake me or because I watched it consume my father in real time I couldn't say.
Once I got to college, though, everything changed. I spent my freshman year drinking every chance I got, trying to make up for lost time. I've since become a better man, but that doesn't make me perfect. So when I should've been eating dinner in my motel room, or better yet, calling my wife and daughter, I was sitting at the bar of some local place called Buck's, nursing a bottle of beer. I don't know why I went; maybe it was the stress of the past few weeks, maybe it was being away from my home and family, or maybe I was just plain bored. What I do know, though, is that if I hadn't gone, I probably would've had a much less eventful Tuesday night.
I was a couple of beers in when I began to notice the commotion coming from the other end of the room. I tried my best to ignore it, but I couldn't help but notice one particular voice that rang out above the others. It wasn't until I heard the word "Sodapop" that I realized where I knew it from. I whipped around on my stool and saw a crowded poker table, most with faces I didn't recognize. Directly across from the dealer, though, sat my nephew, Sodapop Curtis. His loud personality had him commanding the table and, from the looks of it, he appeared to be winning.
I also couldn't help but notice that his best friend, Steve Randle, was leaning against a wall near the poker table. I thought it unusual that the two weren't talking to each other, given that they were always together. Soda did keep glancing his way, though, usually before he took his turn. Oh.
Barely a few beers in and I was already drunk enough to be stupid. It shouldn't have taken me that long to realize that the two of them were cheating, but once I did it was extremely obvious. Every time Steve coughed, Soda called. If he rubbed his nose, Soda raised. And if he yawned, Soda folded. All the while the two pretended not to know each other; Soda commanding the table, Steve in the direct eyeline of the opponents' cards. The plan was almost foolproof, that is until they got caught.
It started with some whispering and stolen glances around the table, subtle enough for Soda not to notice.
"Kinda strange that you're doing so well as a rookie, huh?" one of the players asked.
"Beginners luck I guess," Soda laughed as Steve coughed. Soda called.
"And you know what else is strange?" asked another player, leaning in, "I could've sworn I saw you and that fella over there," he paused and pointed to Steve, "working at that gas station together. What's it called?"
"The DX," another player piped up, "and come to think of it, I've seen the two of them working together too. Practically inseparable."
"Say, isn't this kid Darry Curtis' brother? The dropout?"
The look on Soda's face told me he had an idea of what was about to happen next, but he wasn't quite quick enough to dodge the sucker punch to his face.
An all-out brawl broke out in a matter of seconds. Steve and Soda did their best but nothing's fair when it comes to a fight that's five on two. I'd never been a fan of fighting, nor had I ever been in a fight before, but I figured since I was here, slightly tipsy, and Soda was my nephew, it was only right that I jumped in.
I began awkwardly punching one of the guys that was on top of Sodapop, successfully managing to get him off, unfortunately taking a right hook to the stomach right afterward. I threw a weak punch to his chest, staggering backward due to the impact and watching as he and the other guys scrambled away. I shook out my hand, astonished at the fact that one crappy punch from me caused them all to run. That's when I noticed the lights, though, and heard the sirens. That's why they're running, dummy.
Not only was I too dumb to realize the police would show up eventually, but I was dumb enough to freeze where I stood when I figured it out. Soda was struggling to stand, and Steve was nowhere to be found. I had never been to a police station before, much less in handcuffs, but I guess there was a first time for everything. I complied as my hands were forced behind my back, thanking myself I was at least not dumb enough to say anything incriminating.
As I was being hauled away I spotted Soda being cuffed in a similar manner, though he was certainly resisting more than I was.
"Just go! No sense in us both getting hauled in!" he yelled.
My brows furrowed in confusion and I attempted to lift my hands, trying to show him that it was too late for me. After following his gaze to look behind me, though, I caught sight of Steve as he slipped out the back door. Hey, at least my weak attempt at helping got one of us out of trouble.
— — — — — — — — — —
The booking process was nowhere near as cool as they made it seem on TV. They had me photographed, fingerprinted, and filed into the system right there in the police station lobby for everyone to see. Turns out the Tulsa police station is severely underfunded and overworked, as evidenced by the crowded cell I was put into when the process ended.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Soda was eventually brought to the cell, his eye already beginning to bruise and him clutching his side.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Been better," he grimaced. "God, Darry's going to kill me."
"He's going to kill both of us."
I was beginning to contemplate the logistics of spending the night in jail with so many people crammed into a cell already. The guards kept bringing more inmates, too, and they weren't slowing down. One guard in particular, though, seemed eerily familiar to me. I squinted, trying to remember where I would even know him from, when he caught sight of me. His eyes widened, showing he clearly recognized me too.
"Dr. Price?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"Officer Bingham, you fixed my knee up last week," he explained.
I snapped my fingers in recognition. "That's right, John Bingham! How's the knee?" I asked, feigning cheerfulness. I may barely remember this guy, but he was likely our best shot out of here.
"Better than it's been in a while. What'd you do to land yourself in here?"
I looked down sheepishly. "My nephew here got into a small scuffle, I jumped in to defend him. We've got no one to bail us out, no idea what to do…"
I was hoping he'd jump in and offer to help at this point, but I had no such luck. I tried another angle.
"I've got urgent patients that need me…"
He leaned in to whisper to me. "Let me see what I can do. But no promises, okay?"
I nodded. "Thank you."
I smiled at Soda, who raised his eyebrows at me.
"What was that about?" he asked.
"I think that's our way out."
— — — — — — — — — —
Soda began skipping around the parking lot the second we left the building, clearly eager to be out of there. I felt the same way, despite not outwardly showing it.
"We're free!" he shouted, pumping his fists in the air, and I couldn't decide if he was still drunk or just excited.
"Free, but with no way home," I reminded him.
"Nah, Steve'll be here."
"How can you be sure?"
Suddenly a seemingly parked car came to life from down the road, quickly driving to the parking lot and stopping in front of us. In the driver's seat was none other than Steve Randle.
"What can I say, greasers take care of each other," Soda said as he got into the front seat. I got into the back and Steve was peeling out of the parking lot before I had even shut the door.
"Didn't peg you for the fighting type, Michael," Steve joked.
"Yeah, well I'm not."
"What time is it?" asked Sodapop.
"Quarter past eleven," answered Steve.
"Shit, Darry's probably home by now. He's gonna be pissed about this. I was supposed to be home with Pony tonight, too."
"I don't know what's going to piss him off more, the fact that you were hustling poker, you got arrested, or that it was with Michael," laughed Steve.
"I mean, we don't have to tell him…" began Sodapop.
"You should be honest with him, Soda," I advised.
He sighed. "Yeah, he'll know something's up. I needed an explanation for where my extra dough's been coming from anyway. He's gonna know something's up just from the shiner on my face. We don't have to tell him you got arrested too, though…"
"What are you saying?" I asked.
"Darry's only going to get madder when he finds out you were involved. So what if I tell him I called you from jail and you got me out because you knew the guard? He can't hate me for tonight, he's my brother, but he'll certainly see it as a reason to hate you."
"I don't know Soda…"
"Trust me, okay? I know Darry better than you. If he finds out you were involved I don't think you'll set foot in our house ever again."
I sighed, knowing my nephew was probably right. I didn't know my nephew as well as I'd like to, and the last thing I needed was another reason to get on his bad side.
"Alright, so we lie," I conceded.
"No, well tell a modified version of the truth," countered Soda.
"It's kind of like lying, but not really," added Steve.
I stared out the window and watched the houses blur by as Steve sped through the suburbs. What had I gotten myself into?
A/N: Let me know if you liked/loved/absolutely hated this chapter in the reviews!