Come Down From Your Fences

Chapter 13

A shadow fell over the bench Dally was trying to take a nap on. "Beat it, pal. Seat's taken," he said without opening his eyes.

Dally wrapped his arms tighter around himself, trying to burrow deeper into the thin fleece lining of his prison-issued jacket. Despite the bright sunlight, the air was crisp and his coat was doing a piss-poor job of keeping him warm.

It was the scheduled "recreation" time for the day. For most of the guys that meant stretching their legs, getting some exercise, and socializing with their fellow inmates. For Dallas Winston, who was never much for socializing and wouldn't be caught dead exercising, it meant smoking a couple of cigarettes and catching up on some sleep.

The shadow didn't move and Dally felt himself grow more irritated. "Are you deaf or just incredibly stupid? Fuckin' seat is taken," he growled.

"Shit, Winston, is that any way to greet an old friend?" Dally didn't have to open his eyes to know who that familiar drawl belonged to. A sly smile spread across his face as he sat up, squinting into the sunlight.

"Shepard," was his only word in greeting.

The other man grinned, the long scar that ran from his temple to his chin giving the action more than a hint of menace. "Miss me?"

Dally barked out a laugh. Tim Shepard wasn't exactly what he'd call a friend and he sure as hell hadn't missed him. But even Dally would admit it was nice to see a familiar face, even if it did belong to someone he'd just as soon beat the crap out of than sit and have a smoke with.

Tim sat down next to him and checked his shirt pocket and Dally tried not to roll his eyes. He could tell the pocket was empty and he knew what was coming next.

"Hey, Dal, can I bum a smoke?" Dally had the cigarette out before Tim finished the question.

"Thanks. I'm good for it," Tim said around the cigarette as he lit it with the matches Dally gave him.

"Right," Dally said, holding out his hand for the pack of matches Tim was about to slip into his shirt pocket. Tim handed them over without comment.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke he asked, "So what's the deal here?"

"No deal," Dally answered. "Just doin' my time. Stayin' outta trouble."

"Hell, Winston, ya ain't getting soft in your old age, are you?"

Dally didn't answer. Slouching back in his seat, he narrowed eyes, silently daring Tim to continue. Tim held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Hey, man, nothin' personal. I was just thinkin' that maybe those guys you hang out with have fucked with your world view, ya know?" Tim laughed. "Curtis, man, he means well, but he really doesn't have a clue. Tried to get me a job, put me on the straight-and-narrow."

Dally nodded, he could relate. He remembered Darry sitting him down on more than one occasion, trying to convince him to get a job. Time to grow up, Dally, he'd said. Dally couldn't believe he'd had the guts to say something like that to his face - nobody else would have. But Tim was right, Darry meant well.

"Well, you can see how that turned out," Tim continued, motioning to their surroundings. "Ain't my fault his boss had all these expensive tools lyin' around just waitin' for someone to come along and take 'em. Ya know me, never one to pass up an opportunity. Man," he said, his voice almost wistful, "if that had panned out, I woulda made a nice haul."

Suddenly, Dally grabbed Tim by the neck of his shirt. "Jesus, Shepard - if you fuckin' cost Darry his job, I'll -"

Tim threw up his hands, "Relax, Winston. I didn't cost Darry nothin'. I told the cops he didn't have anything to do with it, and they believed me."

Dally released his hold and Tim smiled. "But you just proved my point." He looked smug and Dally really hated people who were smug.

"Since when does Dallas Winston care if Darrel Curtis loses his job?" Tim continued.

"That doesn't prove jack," Dally snarled. "Darry's a good guy, just tryin' to raise his brothers. Only a real asshole would try to fuck with that." Dally lit a cigarette, trying to contain his urge to punch Shepard in the face.

Tim waived his hand in front of him, indicating he was ready to move onto another topic of conversation. "Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was what's been goin' down since you've been locked-up."

Dally kept his face remote and blank, but he had to admit that his interest was piqued.

Now this is what I've been missin', he thought, his blood humming. Give me crime and mayhem any day over this feelings and rainbows bullshit I've been trapped in since I got here.

"Seems there's been some big time action movin' into town. Makes the petty crap we've been mixed up in look like kid's stuff," Tim explained, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

Dally took the bait. "Oh yeah, like what?" he asked.

Tim finished off the cigarette, flicking the butt into the dead grass. "Just bigger. More organized. Lots more cash."

"Drugs?" Dally asked, the word sour in his mouth. Knocking over a liquor store or stealing a car was one thing; drugs, however, didn't sit well with him. He'd seen too much of what drugs can do while he was in New York. It felt like a coward's way of making money.

Tim shrugged. "Yeah, there's drugs, but there's also other stuff." He looked at Dally, a coldness in his eyes that Dally had never seen before. He looked hungry, almost rabid. "It's our chance, man. I've got a connection who says we could really go far, make a name for ourselves. Tulsa's full of untapped potential and I just wanted to see if you were interested takin' advantage of it."

Dally leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He thought about his cell and what Dr. Brown had said to him about never leaving it. What Tim was offering would almost guarantee the Doc's prediction would come true. He couldn't believe that it was actually bothering him, that he wasn't jumping at the opportunity.

Dead or in jail, isn't that what everyone says about my future? Isn't like I'm gonna end up respectable and successful, so what difference does it make?

"I don't know, man," he said, wincing at the hesitancy in his voice. "Give me some time to think about it."

Tim stood up, driving his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Whatever, man. Figured you'd want to stay at the kiddie table."

"Fuck you, Shepard," Dally said, a bit of humor laced with the insult.

Tim shrugged and began to pat his shirt pocket again. He looked at Dally, "Hey -" he started, but Dally was already holding out a cigarette and his matches.

"Thanks, man," Tim said through the smoke. "Let me know if you change your mind." He walked off, heading for the door where a guard stood, silently watching the yard.

Dally stood up, ready to follow him inside. He stopped in mid-stride and muttered another "Fuck" as he realized Shepard left with his matches.