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Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. I don't make any money doing this; I do it because I love her characters. I also don't own The Beatles "A Day In The Life".
Warnings: Contains coarse language.
...I heard the news today, oh boy...
Sunday, September 25, 1966
Tim came downstairs bleary-eyed and clad only in a pair of blue jeans. Last night had sure been a good time. Seeing those Socs turn tail and run had been satisfying. It would have been more satisfying if one of them hadn’t broken his fucking nose for the third time.
He looked at his reflection in the toaster. His eye was swelling, his nose was crooked and his knuckles looked like hamburger. But damn, he felt good.
Even Dallas had shown up. Tim had been merciless rubbing it in at the hospital that Dally would miss it, knowing full well it would make him show up. There wasn’t anything that could have kept Dally from whipping the Socs last night.
Even Brumly had shown up, eager to show the Shepard gang they were on their side. Danny Smith ran the Brumly boys a lot better than Bobby Green ever had.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, lukewarm since his mother had likely made it before she’d left, then he grabbed the paper and headed into the living room.
Hank was gone, his chair as empty as the bottle of bourbon next to it. His mother was off at church most likely, and God only knew where Curly and Angel were.
He sat down on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He unfolded the paper and took in the bold headline – ‘Local Boy Shot By Police’.
His stomach turned to a chunk of ice when he read first line – “Tulsa resident Dallas Winston, 18, was allegedly shot and killed by police…”
He put the paper down on the table and stared at the words.
Dally was dead.
He grabbed the paper up again and read the article twice. Dallas had robbed a grocery store and ran from the cops, then pulled a fucking gun on them. It was all too easy for Tim to imagine the police opening up on Dally, letting bullets fly at a target they had likely hated.
And the gun Dally had wasn’t even loaded.
Tim turned that over in his head. It was likely the gun he had given Dallas - the forty-five auto he'd gotten from Pete Malcolm. He’d thought nothing of giving it to Dally; the Socs were everywhere, jumping any greaser that did so much as walk down the street, and Dally said it would help scare the shit out of those rich boys to have a gun in their faces.
So why would the stupid fucker point a gun at the fuzz? Why would he refuse to put it down?
Tim sat back for a second. There was only one reason someone points any gun at a cop.
Dallas had been different for a long time. He’d become colder and meaner after Laura left. The proof was in just how cruel he’d been to Ruby, how deftly he’d gone for the jugular with him and how he’d treated all those girls at Buck’s.
Tim remembered driving a crying Mary Katherine home, dropping her a block down the street from her house, thinking that at any moment O’Lafferty would race out of his house with a shotgun and blow him away, not even bothering to find out Tim was playing the role of good guy that night.
Maybe this had been coming for so long he hadn’t seen it.
He looked at the article again, then drew in a short breath as he noticed the headline underneath. “Hero Dies of Injuries.” The Cade kid.
Jesus Christ.
Was it only a day earlier the paper had been waxing poetic about what heroes they all were? Now two of them were dead and one of them went out by his own hand, in a way. They should have let that damn church burn to the ground.
He wouldn’t have run in there for some strangers, little kids or not. He’d run in there for Curly or Angela, probably Bill, too. He stopped himself from picking and choosing who else.
He’d bothered Dally something awful about that, until he piped up that he’d gone after the two younger kids from the Curtis gang. Now look at all the good that had done - the Cade kid was dead anyway.
Maybe that was why Dally was, too.
He stood up slowly. Dally sure had taken the coward’s way out. He never would’ve thought that tough son of a bitch would do it. He wished he could knock Dally’s head in a little, try to beat some sense into it. He was giving those damn cops what they always wanted, the stupid fucker. They’d cornered him, and he’d let them shoot him down like a dog.
Tim grabbed the empty bottle of bourbon and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered and fell onto the carpet, but didn’t relieve the tension he felt. Who the hell was he supposed to fight now? Who was he supposed to get into it with?
He’d known Dally before he moved to New York. When he’d come back, Tim was sure he’d come on board with his boys and run with his gang. Instead, he went in with the Curtis boys. But they were different than Dallas; he knew it, and they knew it. Tim could count on Dally’s backup when he needed it. Hell, he could count on Dally trying to fuck his life up when he didn’t need it, too.
His stomach felt empty and raw.
He heard the front door open and turned to see Bill Pearce standing in the doorway. Bill opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again as he approached Tim.
“I guess you already heard from the looks of you,” Bill said. Tim watched as Bill glanced at the newspaper in Tim’s hand. “I still can’t believe it.”
Tim nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“What are we gonna do?” Bill asked.
“What?” Tim managed to say.
“About the gun, you think the cops will trace it to Malcolm? We could get in some shit over this.”
Tim walked into the kitchen and sat down on a chair by the kitchen table. Dallas was dead, and all Bill was worried about was the gun. Shit, why wasn’t he worried about the gun? Dally was dead and gone. Screw him. Take care of yourself and your own business. Don’t get involved.
“Tim, you okay?” Bill asked.
Tim nodded. “The gun wasn’t registered. Pete’s old man picks up stuff at gun sales. Record of last owner won’t be him.”
Bill nodded, and Tim avoided his gaze.
“You need me to do anything?” Bill asked.
Tim thought for a moment, then stood up. He needed to have a shower. He had to go over to the Curtis place, it was only right. He didn’t want to lose them as allies. Tim’s own gang needed to know, if they hadn’t heard already, and the cops would probably come around looking for him.
“No,” Tim said. “Get the boys together, though. I’ll meet you guys downtown after I see the Curtises.”
“You got it,” Bill said.
Tim had taken only two stairs when he stopped.
“Bill? Go by Buck’s and let Ruby know,” he said. He didn’t turn around to see Bill’s expression or to see him nod his confirmation. He knew Bill would do it.
He walked up the rest of the stairs to the bathroom and got in the shower, the water as hot as he could stand it.
XXXX
Ruby walked downstairs and groaned at the sight of Buck’s barroom. Last night had been some kind of blow out. Every gang member she’d ever laid eyes on had shown up at Buck’s … well, all but one. Tim had never come by. It almost seemed like he’d been avoiding Buck’s the past few months. Well, maybe "seemed" was being too generous. He was, and she knew it.
She methodically began clearing away ashtrays and beer bottles from the bar, then frowned at the empty space underneath the bar. Dallas still hadn’t brought that blasted gun back. She’d caught him sneaking the revolver into his room just about a week ago, after Ponyboy Curtis and the dark-haired boy, Johnny-something, had shown up. She suspected something was going on, and it was confirmed the next day when news of that boy being killed had been in the morning paper.
She’d torn a strip off Dally, who pretended he had no idea where the revolver was. She knew full well it had found its way wherever those two boys had gone. The past day the paper had been filled with their story, how they’d saved those kids.
People at Buck’s had talked about it nonstop, laughing over the fact Dally had jumped in a burning building. For some reason, she hadn’t been all that surprised. The newspaper had said he’d jumped in to save the boys, who had gone in after the kids. Dallas may be a first-class jerk, and she’d never have any respect for the lousy old cuss, but she could see him jumping inside a burning building for his friends.
She expected Dally would be back with that revolver the minute he was out of the hospital, and if he wasn’t, she wasn’t serving the jerk a single damn beer until it was.
She sighed as she counted all the empties and totalled them up for Buck, who’d decided he might actually like to keep records of what he sold.
She was so engrossed in counting she didn’t hear the footsteps on the front stairs. She turned around when she heard someone clear their throat.
“Bill,” she said, surprised to see him. “What’re you doin’ here?”
Bill walked toward her slowly. “Well, um … ”
She felt suddenly nervous. Bill was usually jovial and talkative, and right now it looked like it was strangling him to get words out.
“Bill?” she asked, getting worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Something’s happened,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
She felt lightheaded for a second.
“Is it Tim?” she asked, her hand gripping the bar so tight she could feel the rough wood breaking the skin.
“No, Tim’s okay,” he said. “He … have you seen the paper this morning?”
“What? No, what happened?”
She thought the silence lasted too long.
“Dallas Winston was killed last night.”
Ruby felt the room spin. “What?”
“He was shot by the cops,” Bill told her.
She swallowed hard and waved Bill off as he approached to steady her. She sat down in one of the rail back chairs.
“He’s dead?” she asked. “That can’t be, he’s in the hospital.”
Bill sat down across from her.
“He left the hospital last night, to be in the rumble. I dunno the details, but he robbed a store after, then pulled a gun on the fuzz when they cornered him,” Bill said quietly.
Ruby shook her head. “That goddamn fool! Why? Why would he point a gun at the police?”
“He wouldn’t put it down,” Bill said. “It wasn’t loaded. They didn’t know.”
She felt dangerously close to crying. She was not going to cry over Dallas Winston, not after all he’d done to her.
“But why? Why if it wasn’t loaded … ?”
Bill didn’t answer, and the horrible answer to why suddenly made itself clear.
“He knew … he knew they’d shoot him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Oh, dear God.”
She couldn’t stop the tears this time.
She looked up at Bill, who was watching her carefully, as if expecting her to lose her mind.
“The gun,” she said, slow realization making her feel dizzy again. “Oh my God, he had the gun from here … ”
She felt like throwing up. Bill must’ve seen the expression on her face as she pushed the chair back from the table. He grabbed her hands as she stood up.
“It wasn’t that gun, it wasn’t,” Bill said quickly. “He’d got one from Tim a few days ago, an automatic.”
Ruby stood there, wondering if Tim was feeling guilty, if he felt like he’d killed Dallas. If he felt guilty like she was feeling right now.
“I fought with him,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “I called him all sorts of terrible things the other night, I told him he was a lousy excuse for a human being … ”
She covered her mouth with her hand and didn’t protest when Bill pulled her toward him and hugged her.
“It wasn’t nothin’ you said,” Bill told her. “He’s been different a long time.”
Laura.
Ruby hadn’t thought about her in months. She wondered if Laura knew. She wondered what she’d do. She imagined for a second that it was Tim, then pushed the thought out of her mind, a little afraid that thinking it might make it come true.
Ruby pushed away from Bill a little.
“Thanks for coming to tell me,” she said stiffly.
He nodded at her and made his way to the door and outside. Ruby fetched the paper a few minutes later.
It was only then she learned Johnny Cade had died, too.
XXXX
Tuesday, October 4, 1966
Ruby walked through the gates of the cemetery slowly. She had been to Johnny Cade’s funeral earlier in the week and found it crammed with politicians and important people. He died a hero they all said. Ruby had found herself crying her eyes out even though she barely knew the boy. Just seeing how his gang remembered him was enough to make her cry. She remembered her mother’s funeral all too clearly after attending Johnny’s.
Dallas’s funeral had been completely different. The only people that showed up were his friends and members of some of the local gangs that weren’t celebrating the fact Dallas was gone.
Laura had come, and Ruby had barely been able to look at her. Her eyes were haunted and empty, and Ruby felt guilty looking at her, as if Laura might be able to tell just from looking at her what had happened between her and Dallas all those months ago.
Tim and his boys had come, wearing their beat up jeans and leather jackets, making the gathering look more like a fight about to happen than a memorial. She had felt Tim’s gaze on her as she’d entered the building, and she had to fight to keep her composure.
She had struggled over whether she should come. Despite everything, she was tied to Dallas somehow. He would always be the spark of lightning that had started the fire that burned her. Tim probably hated her for coming. He probably took it as proof she had feelings for Dallas after all.
She didn’t, she knew she didn’t. Not anymore, at least. But seeing that closed coffin and knowing it held his body had forced her to remember him as he was, not how she wanted to see him. She’d spent the last three months remembering only the bad. She remembered how he’d hurt her, the things he’d said and how he’d taunted Tim with what had happened. His broken promises and his cruel words. They had to work side-by-side in the stables after that, and they had argued more times than she could count or they kept a frosty silence between them. He’d called her names, taunted her about losing Tim and laughed about his role in it. That was all she knew of him.
But now she remembered other things. She remembered how he fought off three boys from Brumly who had tried to grab her. She remembered racing him down in the pasture, how he looked almost happy on horseback. She remembered the way he looked at Laura and the way she looked at him. His voice could be kind when he wanted it to be. She remembered him saving her life, throwing himself on top of her during the tornado. She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Dally.
She looked at the coffin and felt a deep sadness. It was all such a waste. He could have been so much more.
So when she crested the hill at the cemetery a few days later, a small nosegay of flowers in her sweaty palm, she was surprised to see Tim Shepard standing at the foot of the grave, marked with only upturned dirt. It has been only three days since Dallas was buried next to his friend, not enough time for a headstone to arrive.
She walked up slowly, daring to stand next to Tim. She felt too nervous to place the flowers on the ground, afraid of what he’d think of her even bringing them. She looked over at Johnny’s grave, filled with flowers and wreaths. Dallas’s grave held only two items, nothing like Johnny’s, and it made her sad.
The silence was grating on her nerves. She stooped down and laid her small bouquet near the other, her shoes sinking into the soft dirt.
“They’re pretty,” Tim said, lighting up a cigarette.
“I picked them in the pasture at the stables,” she said, her voice sounding nervous and edgy. She was surprised he'd spoken to her.
“He’d hate them.”
She smiled sadly. “Yeah. He probably would.”
They stood together, looking at the desolate patch of ground. A wind had kicked up and Ruby shivered in her light jacket. Cemeteries had always creeped her out. It felt like there were ghosts lurking around every corner, and it was almost as if Dally was there.
“Well … I better go,” she said, looking over at Tim. He was still battered from the rumble, his knuckles scabbed over. She felt the urge to reach out and grab his hand, press her lips to his damaged hands. She wanted to apologize again and make Tim understand she still loved him. Tim looked over at her for a brief second.
“I’ll see you around,” she said.
“See you around.”
She walked down the path, then stopped and turned back toward Tim. The sun had set, and everything was a dusky blue, save for the fire-orange tip of Tim’s cigarette. She thought about the morning she had found out about Dallas and how Bill had come to tell her. It had never occurred to her until now to wonder why Bill had done that.
She looked back at Tim again and wondered if he’d sent Bill. It was likely he had.
She watched him grind out his cigarette in the soft ground at the foot of Dally’s grave, then knock a new one out of the pack. Instead of lighting it, he tucked it behind his ear, then tossed the package next to her flowers.
As he walked away, she realized she had spent too much time worrying about what people would think of her showing up, and not enough worrying about how Tim was taking it all. He had lost a friend, she knew that much. Despite everything Dallas had done to Tim over the years, Tim was still there at the end. She was still there at the end.
She wondered if Dallas knew it.
XXXX
Tim had watched Ruby lay her pathetic little bundle of flowers down on the dirt. They’d traded a few uncomfortable sentences before saying their goodbyes. He wasn’t going to leave on account of her. No, let her be uncomfortable, let her feel so bad she had to leave.
Of course she broke first and mumbled a goodbye. It didn’t satisfy him like it should.
He wasn’t surprised she’d come to the funeral, but he was surprised she was here. He figured she’d be thanking her lucky stars that Dally was out of her hair.
But maybe it was the same for her as it was for him. As much as he hated the bastard sometimes, there was something about Dallas Winston. He was good with a knife – Tim had the scar to prove that – he would jump into a fight anytime and he could drink just about anybody under the table. He was a good man in a rumble.
He’d steal your girlfriend and laugh about it, then buy you a beer to even the score. He’d take a few extra punches at a guy who’d done you wrong in the past during a rumble. He’d share a smoke with you, then steal a pack out of your pocket a day later. He’d slash your tires when he knew you’d just bought them, then take the beating and relish telling the story later.
Tim guessed he’d probably miss Dally for awhile.
Maybe Ruby would, too. Maybe underneath all their fighting they had something. He knew full well Dally never wanted her. Whether she wanted him or not … well, he’d never know.
They’d have screaming matches at Buck’s in front of everyone, and then she’d ignore him the next night like he didn’t exist. He knew they ran into each other at the stables all the time. She’d probably miss having someone to fight with, too.
He watched her retreating form as she headed towards the gates, and he realized she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Dallas. It had burned him up, knowing Dally had saved her in Topeka. Saved her, then slept with her. Protecting and destroying. It seemed like all any of them knew how to do.
He looked at the patch of dirt and shook his head. Dally was a damn fool to go out like he did. He ever saw him again, he was going to knock the son of a bitch on his ass for doing it, too.
He ground his cigarette out, then tossed Dally the rest of the pack. He’d owed him a pack anyway. He turned and walked the opposite way from where Ruby had gone, his long shadow like a ghost following him out of the cemetery.