In which Dallas Winston has a soft spot for more than one Cade, and Gloria's kid brother gets caught up in a murder rap.
𝑭𝒂𝒔𝒕-𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒌 • verb
\ ˈfas(t)-tôk \
to influence or persuade
by fluent, facile, and u...
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"I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS, Winston."
"Man, we'll see about that, Cade," Dal smirks. I tug him by the arm towards the billiard room as soon as we walk into Buck's. The drive over from Jay's had started off rather tame, but Dally and I both talk big when it comes to pool. By the time we pulled up behind the Roadhouse, the competitive pre-game banter was in full swing.
Dal stops, halfway between the pool tables and the bar.
"Can I get you a drink before we start?" Dal asks, pointing over at the bar. Since Dal was off tonight, Buck was busy behind the counter serving a sea of people – quite the crowd for a Tuesday night.
I think for a moment, not sure which drinks I'll even like. I've grown up surrounded by alcohol, but have never even tried it. My avoidance of the stuff probably has something to do with the fact that I know what it's capable of; revealing what people are capable of.
Dal's eyes widen, as if he's suddenly remembering both of my parents are the very definition of alcoholics.
"Orrr.. not," he says, guiding my shoulder back towards the pool tables.
"Wait–"
He stops.
"I'll have a drink."
Dal looks down at me, and rests his hand on my shoulder. His dark eyes peer into mine, studying me carefully.
"You sure?"
I nod.
He raises a brow.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Just.. get me something good.."
"Sure thing."
"–Anything but Schlitz," I add, grabbing his arm before I lose him in the crowd. "My old man drinks those."
Dal glances down at my hand on his arm, then looks at me, nodding understandingly.
I watch him disappear amidst the clusters of leather, smokes, and grease. Only when I lose sight of him do I take a look around. Despite the fact that tons of greasers my age hung out at Buck's all the time, I've only ever been in here a few times. Once, was that night I'd been looking for Pony and Johnny, the other times with the gang – usually if we're waiting on Dal to meet up for the movies or football or something.
Nighttime draws a different crowd; the air is hazy and smells of beer and tobacco, and there's a constant hum consisting of chatter and laughter, occasionally broken up by the sound of clinking glassware. An older Elvis song plays on the jukebox, a familiar tune, though I can't recall it's name.
