Hefty Prices in Leather Jackets

Chapter 1

The smell of bonfire in trash cans attacked my senses as I stepped out of the dark alley ways. I heard feet scrape the dirty cement as grunt noises vocalized the area. The sound of a fist hit the flesh of another human being as I walked past a musclular, yet scaring lookin', guy who was pretty much knocking out his buddy. Walls of the surrounding buildings were covered in graffiti. Alcohol scented the trash cans along with the other common drugs that often came from the wild side of New York. Laughter even filled the streets as another man jumped a little kid, or even beat the ever living God out of him just for fun. People blew off steam that way, or even through gang fights and rumbles. When I even looked around, I seen people run out of the convenience stores with their jackets and pockets stuffed. Some people shoplifted because they need it, others did it just for fun.

I always got the question that consisted of, "what's a girl like you doing down here?" Well, to them, it's a surprise. You don't see many girls, if you do, they look pretty intimidating with their black clothed looks and mean smirks that whispered "dead meat." But, when your eyes land on a girl who ain't got the whole scary, dark look --like me-- and have the appereance of dirty blonde hair, greenish hazel like eyes, wears leather jackets, jeans, and boots- you get a nicer vibe off of her and just kind of consider her one of those people you could jump pretty easily.
They didn't know why I was down here, they just knew a girl like me- or like most girls in New York- shouldn't be down here. What they didn't know was that my parents had died in a crash with the other driver being impaired behind the wheel, they also didn't know that the people who have custody over me didn't care about me. After a really bad fight with them one night, I decided I wasn't staying there and left. So, I've been down here for a year and half, close to two. But, people down here are here for a reason- everyone's got a story.
I wished I lived more in a town or city where it wasn't influential in a bad way, maybe I'd get my life into shape if I wasn't in this dump. Considering I'm almost seventeen, I could have a possibility- start as someone new, get a job, and maybe fix myself up.
I lit up a ciagrette, and burned the thoughts. Those dreams seemed to be reaching for some high hopes and good luck, like I had any of that either.

When I heard a guy fighting and exchanging some words with someone else, I kept walking. As I tried to avoid the swinging fist, the teenager's elbow aimed right at my face and swung right back at me. I tried to dodge him, but got skimmed on the cheek.
He glanced down, hit the guy again, and helped me up. Cursing every word at the guy doubled up on the street, the boy inched off into a corner.
"Hey, what's a good looking broad like you doing down here?" He breathed heavily.
I raised an eyebrow, "Just living, how about a guy like you?"
He smirked, "Just living, too."
I nodded, touching my face from where his sharp elbow skimmed my cheek.
"You got a name?" He said slyly.
"Yeah, Jamie Hinders," I took my last drag on my ciagrette, "how about you?"
"Dallas," he took out his lighter, "Dallas Winston."
Surprised, I teased, "Oh, the famous name that flies around here, huh? You've gotta be kidding, are you sure?"
"Nah, sweetie, I ain't," he said, in a somewhat, stern tone.
When a moment of silence passed, I proceeded with;
"So, you really are, aren't ya?"
He sighed, already impatient, "Honey, it ain't like I'm some celebrity or somethin'. You think I'd lie about who I am?"
I shrugged, "Some people do."
He laughed lightly and vouched, "Well, I am the Winston everyone cowards over. So, don't flip out."
"If I was, I think I'd be outta your way already," I rolled my eyes.
His brown hair fell in wisps on his forehead then curled into tufts behind his ears and along the nape of his neck. Most boys around here don't particularly like haircuts, so they didn't bother to fix up their hair. He wore a muscle shirt, along with jeans and boots. His leather jacket was off to the side sitting on the ground. He stood tall as his brown, cold eyes were filled with anger and hate. His expression on his face was hard- when you're down here, people always seemed to have that dangerous, yet threatening, look to their faces. But, I've heard about Dallas Winston- he was wild, tough, cold, and mean. He was part of an organized gang, he was even sometimes more reckless than the boys who were apart of the group. Dallas can tyrannize over others easily, and could even be a complete menace to little kids.
I eyed him, "Never thought I'd run into you without getting punched on purpose, man."
"You're too.." he mumbled, shrugged, then didn't bother to finish his sentence.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I glanced around then back at him, "What do you do around here for kicks?"
"Pretty much what everyone else does," he blew some smoke.
I knew what he meant- have gang fights, shoplift, have rumbles, spray paint on walls, and much more. So, it's not like I'm suprised by it or anything.
"How about you?" He asked.
"Man, nothing much," I sighed.
"You ain't ever been in a gang fight or a rumble?" He made it sound like I was almost pathetic.
"I've been nearly beaten to death tryna get outta one," I snapped.
"You're tough for a girl," he rubbed the back of his neck, basically eating the words he just spoke.
"Is that different?" I inquired, slightly offended.
"Nah, baby, it ain't," he crushed his ciagrette under his shoe.
That was the only time I've ever been in a fight- it was when I looked up and realized what was actually happening. Two or three guys were in a fight, I got dragged into it by one of them. They somehow mistaked me for one of their buddies, that's how intrigued they were by the fight. But, I almost killed myself tryna get out of it. After that, I added that event to my worst experiences and tried to put a tough act on since then.
"How'd you end up at this end of the state?" He asked.
"My parents died and the people who have custody over me couldn't care less," I looked down at my feet, "you?"
He looked at the post behind him and ripped the paper off, "My parents couldn't care less if I was dead or somethin'."
"So, we both got it that way, huh?"
Dallas looked at the ground as his eyes peeked up at me, "How old are ya?"
"I'll be seventeen soon," I replied, "you?"
"Just about that age, too," he huffed.
He flipped some barrels and gestured me to sit, "How long ya been out here for?"
I sighed at the thought, "Just about a year and half, almost two."
"Man, the last three years," he leaned back a little, throwing a rock at some kid and laughing afterwards.
"You got it rough, huh, Dallas?" I said, thinking back on what he explained.
"Please, it's Dally. But, I'm tough, it's cool," he commented.
I stared at him for a short moment as a sound then interrupted my thoughts.

When I looked over into the depths of the allies, sirens squeaked louder. Their lights filled the darkness and opened up the unseen area. I glimpsed over at Dallas, his eyes were going wild and they were searching the ground faster than a Cheetah.
"Let's beat it," he went out on a full run, dragging me by hand.
"What? Where we goin-" he slammed me into a wall as he clutched onto my arm with what seemed like all his life.
"I ain't going back to jail, I ain't going back.." he repeated to himself angrily.
"You've been to jail?!" I interrogated quietly. I've never kept up on his stories, so I would never know the consequences he received from shoplifting, stealing, etc.
"Well, yeah," he nodded as he peeked out of the dark, narrow lane anxiously, "at the age of ten and stuff.."
"At the age of.." I screamed in whisper, practically facepalming myself.
Then, when I looked over, sirens flashed before my eyes as flashlights glided against the walls and cement.
As I tried to hold onto the wall, I turned my eyes over to Dallas and whispered, "What did you get me into?"
He stared at my crazy expression. Then, Dally gripped onto the wall as he smothered his back against it, trying to hide from the flashing lights. Man, that boy was cursing every swear word there was in the book.