Come Down From Your Fences

Chapter 40

The newsman droned on about the weather and the traffic. Dally sighed impatiently and reached forward, spinning the dial until some music spilled from the speakers. News. Commercial. Some chick singing about her loser boyfriend. News. The Beatles. The stupid radio was not cooperating and Dally bit off a curse as he shut it off, plunging the car into silence.

Figuring he could use a smoke, he pushed the dashboard lighter in with a little more force than was necessary as he looked out of the corner of his eye at his passenger. Johnny was staring straight ahead, quieter than Dally could ever remember him being. It didn't help that things got off to such an awkward start.

It wasn't like he knew how the hell to help someone into a car when they couldn't move their legs. Johnny tried to convince him that he didn't need help, that he could do it just fine on his own. In retrospect, he should have listened to him. He just fucked up everything, accidentally knocking Johnny onto the hard pavement. The kid was embarrassed, he could tell. Hell, he was embarrassed for him. He went to help, but Johnny waved him off, pulling himself up into the car. It was a bit of a struggle but he managed it far more gracefully than Dally could have imagined. Shoot, he'd seen drunk guys at Buck's that had more trouble getting into their cars after a particularly wild night.

One hand on the steering wheel, he blindly groped with the other for the handle on the door and cracked the window a couple of inches. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a cigarette but didn't light it, the lighter still stubbornly heating up. At this rate, he'd have Johnny home and be halfway to Buck's before the damn thing was finished.

Some of the houses started to look familiar and Dally realized they were only a couple of streets away from Johnny's foster home. The cop, Dally remembered, a sly grin turning up the corner of his mouth.

Johnny shifted his books on his lap and Dally noticed he was tapping his fingers on the cover of the top book. A nervous habit that Dally recognized immediately. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but closed it immediately when his mind went blank.

"Sorry about back there," he finally said and Johnny shrugged.

"No big deal, man. I've fallen out of the chair before. Wasn't the first time, won't be the last," he said quietly. Dally tightened his grip on the steering wheel, not really liking his answer.

"School okay?" Dally asked, wincing at how stupid the question sounded to his ears. When had Dallas Winston ever given a damn about school? Christ, why couldn't he just talk to Johnny like he always did?

"School's fine," Johnny said, shrugging again. Now the kid was biting his nails.

Bullshit, school's fine, he wanted to respond with, but held back.

Johnny's house came into view, and he was saved from having to think of something else to say. It pissed him off that he felt relieved.

He turned into the driveway, parking behind a fairly nice Buick. He realized someone was opening the door. They must have pulled in just before he did. It was the lady, what's-her-name? Marge or something.

She'd spotted the Pontiac and was making her way over, smiling as she walked to Johnny's side of the car. Johnny wound down his window as she came near.

"Hi, honey," she said sweetly and Dally fought the urge to snicker.

"Hi, Mary. Do you, um, remember Dal?" Johnny stammered slightly and Dally noticed that he now had a death grip on his books.

"Yes, of course." Her voice cooled slightly as her attention turned toward him. "Hello, Dallas. It's nice to see you."

Johnny coughed suddenly and Dally grinned at the kid's unease. Just at that moment, the lighter popped out. He grabbed it and casually lit the cigarette he'd been holding onto, letting it dangle out of the corner of his mouth.