Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns all the characters you recognize (and maybe some you don't!). I am just borrowing them.

Warnings: This story contains a lot of coarse language, descriptions of violence and sexual situations. Don't read it if you don't think you can handle it.

Author's Note: This story is heavily tied into a few of Artemis Rex's stories, as they exist in the same universe. In particular, check out (in this order) Welcome to the Wrong Side of the Tracks, If The Sun Comes Up Tomorrow and Where The Rivers Meet the Sounding Sea. Those three stories run concurrently with this fic and are integral to understanding Dallas in this fic. I also tie this into my own story Middle Ground very lightly. After this fic, read Artemis Rex's Saving Grace, then move on to my sequel fic Holding Back The Years.

Wednesday, April 6, 1966

The air smelled good. It was clean and cool, a light wind that lacked the dank smell of concrete and despair.

Even just twenty measly feet from the gates there was a difference.

He took a pack of Kool’s out of his jacket pocket, struck a loose match on a railing and lit his cigarette, enjoying the taste of freedom. He’d only been there two months this time, but he’d been in three and a half before this, out only two weeks before he’d been picked up again and on a bogus charge, too. Before the three and a half month stint they’d held him in the City Jail until his birthday and the transfer to an adult facility came through, and with it, the knowledge of prison instead of reform school. It was a long and hard education to get in a few months, but it had benefits, and with it, drawbacks, as the fresh scar on his arm could attest to.

He ambled over to the pale blue and white ’56 Chevy Bel Air at the curb, a lean guy with greased black hair and sunglasses lighting a cigarette as he closed the door with his hip.

“Thought they’d decided to keep you for good,” the guy said to him, extending his hand.

“Them boys know better.” He smiled slowly, the gesture doing nothing to soften his hard eyes. He shook hands with Bill Pearce.

“You wanna drive?”

He shook his head. “Been a long morning. Just wanna get the hell out of McAlester.”

He tossed his leather jacket into the back seat and got in the passenger side, waiting for Bill to start the engine.

“How the hell do I get outta here?” Bill muttered, running a hand through his hair as he looked around, sheriff’s vehicles all around them. “Damn place makes me nervous as sin.”

He looked at the building and stared at the coiled barbed wire on top of high fences.

“Turn right at the corner back there and follow it to the 210, then get on the Turnpike,” he answered, without removing his gaze from the building. The Turnpike would shave a lot of time off the trip back, and he was glad it was open.

He took another drag of his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly, watching the grey ribbon dissipate quickly as it hit the cool spring air. He’d rolled the window down the minute he’d gotten in the sedan. Prison always made him feel a little tense in cramped spaces, and it took weeks for the feelings to fade.

“Those two guys from Texas are comin’ up in a few days,” Bill said as they turned onto the 210. “Heard you were gettin’ out and are itchin’ to set up a meeting for Saturday. I told ‘em at Buck’s.”

“Good deal,” he said nodding. “How’s everything else?”

“Boys are good, territory is cool,” Bill said, cutting a car off as he took the Turnpike entrance at warp speed, earning a honk from the other driver. “You know them Curtis boys? Parents got killed back in January, car accident. Darry Curtis is holdin’ his own though.”

“I was out for two weeks back in February you know,” he said, sarcasm leaching into his voice.

“Right … right,” Bill said. “Well, let's see ... Winston got cracked up bull riding a week or so after you went in. He broke it off with Sylvia and started dating some Socy chick, then broke up with her. Roth got suspended again. Pete Malcolm got his head busted open, and he’s in the hospital. Curly got picked up ridin’ in a stolen car and blamed it on the Brumly guy that was drivin’, so their outfit ain’t too happy about that. Hamilton and Randle got into it over Evie Roberts, and Mathews and my sister broke it off for the four hundredth time since Christmas. Man, I’m glad you’re out.”

He smiled wryly at all the news and closed his eyes. Nothing that needed to be handled and nothing that couldn’t be fixed. A few beers with Green, the top guy with Brumly, would smooth out whatever Curly fucked up. The rest of it he didn’t care about.

He willed the car to be in Tulsa already. He had a meeting to prepare for.

Tim Shepard was back in charge.

A/N: "Triangle" was a working title, and I was hoping I'd come up with a better title, but this one pretty much stuck, so Triangle it is. I appreciate all reviews, especially constructive criticism - letting me know what you like and don't like helps me improve my writing.