𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 , 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

twenty six.

MADELINE WINSTON

"i hid out in a motel." dallas says, his elbows resting on his knees as we sit side-by-side on the hood of the car that's covered with a beige tarp. "one of my boys has a cousin out there in windrixville, he runs the motel, let me crash while i was there."

it's rare for something to get under dallas' skin enough to frighten him, but the way he busted into the curtis' this morning, the way he looked at me, i knew something was wrong. darry offered him water, something to eat, even a beer, but dallas refused it all, said he just needed to talk to me.

i told him to come with me and soda to the DX, that we could talk there.

"thomas, that's his cousin's name. i found him and the motel. that's where i was. he has a group, they came around every night and i started going out with them. they knew i was hiding out 'cause i ran into some trouble back home, but i didn't tell them about johnny or robbing the store or any of it." i watch as his knee starts to bounce with each tap of his foot against the damp earth.

"it started off innocent, going to gentlemen's clubs, stealing some cigars, taking a few of the dancers back to the motel,"

i clench my teeth together, turning away from him as i start to worry where this is going. we're sitting behind the DX on the old 1955 porsche 550 spyder steve and the owner of this joint work on every chance they get, trying to fix it back up to its greatest potential.

"but then one of the women they came back with, her boss, he came to collect her, bring her back to the club 'cause her shift was over. he wasn't a good man. he put his hands on the girl, the others too probably, and i doubt a bloody nose is the worse they've gone home with."

any man who sells out his dancers to leave with men from his club deserves hell, even if they do it of their own free will.

"thomas a-and the others, they beat him up. i mean, he put his hands on the girl, he deserved it, but they could've stopped and they didn't. i was in the room across from theirs and they came in, the girl with them. she was crying, talking about how they killed him. they told me to keep her with me as they cleaned up, but—" dallas' hands start to shake and he quickly clenches them into a fist to stop it. "she was out of her mind, just—sobbing, a mess. she was scared. i let her out of my room and she ran. the cops came a little while later, but we already were booking it up the street."

"was he dead?" i ask about the dancer's boss.

dallas doesn't answer, just lifts his chin, his dark eyes trained on the horizon, and that's my answer.

they killed him. he wasn't a good person, he hurt the young women who worked for him, but still ... the group dallas was with killed a man.

"they blamed me, said if i would've kept her in my room with me, she wouldn't have ran and called for the cops. but what were they gonna do with her once they got rid of the body?" he gnaws on his bottom lip as he thinks over the question he hasn't been able to find an answer to, but i think he has an idea.

they would have wanted to keep the girl quiet about the accident. how would they have done that?

"i ran. hopped on a train last night, went by foot the rest of the way 'til i made it back to tulsa. normally i'd keep going, but ..." he swallows hard. "but i've got blood here now."

me.

"i probably should've kept going. they don't know about you, but they know where to find me. i was too scared they'd come here, start askin' around and instead of finding me, they'd find you, so i ran to darry's." he talks about thirty minutes ago, how his fists banged so hard on the curtis' glass door i thought it'd shatter. "i ran to get away from the crime i committed here, and i came back with another one under my belt. i'm just in deeper shit now than i was when i left."