11:34 pm
12.18.41
New York City
Curtis's Secret Base
I woke up from my late-set alarm with a stretch, yawning as I dragged myself out of bed. I headed out to the kitchen, seeing my brothers stationed there. Sodapop looked up from the television and offered me a kind smile. "Glory! He's awake!" He exclaimed, catching Darrel's attention.
"I was hoping you wouldn't wake up in time." Darrel said with a chuckle, but I knew deep down that he meant it. I rolled my eyes at the two of them before pouring myself a cup of coffee. I sat down with Soda, slowly waking up.
"Who's playing?" I asked, eyeing the television. Sodapop loved to watch football, personally I wasn't a big fan. Broadcasted sports was still relatively new, and the excitement hadn't left for many. "The Redskins are up against the Packers." He said, not even looking at me. "Who's winning?" I asked after a long sip. Sodapop threw me a weird look. "You don't care." He said.
"You're right, I don't. I'm trying to be nice." I chuckled. Sodapop rolled his eyes, punching me lightly in the arm before going back to the game. I never really understood why he watched it at home, I mean- We lived half an hour from the Upper Manhattan Stadium for god's sake! Ticket prices had even gotten cheaper because of all the online watchers!
"I was hoping I could watch the game with Steve this weekend- but, you know." Sodapop shrugged, though I could tell he was a little more upset than he let on. "You act like you don't have anyone to watch it with." Darry says, joining us on the couch. "I don't." Soda replied while throwing him a sideways glance. Darry frowned. "What do you mean? I watch the game with you all the time!
Sodapop sighed. "Well- Yeah... but you don't really watch it." He explained. Darry leaned around him to give me a look that said 'do you know what he's talking about?' which I shook my head to. "You just sit there. I need a guy who'll yell at the tele' with me, is that too much to ask?" Sodapop restated, leaning his head on his hands.
"Why would I yell at it? The players ain't gonna hear me- That just sounds like a noise complaint waiting to happen." Darrel replied defensively. The conversation took a quick turn left into a heated football debate and I decided I had overstayed my welcome. I brushed my teeth and took a quick shower. If I drove with the window down my hair would be dry by the time I got there.
I headed back to my room and opened the closet with a sigh. Bambi clearly didn't like the purple idea, so I'd have to try something else. Maybe I could ask Soda or Darry if they had anything...
With only a bit of pride remaining, I grabbed the red shirt from the floor and threw it on. It smelled just the slightest like garbage, but there's nothing a little cologne wouldn't fix. I threw on a clean pair of black pants, a black tie, and a watch that Soda had gotten me for my birthday last year.
I decided I looked clean enough and stepped out of my room. Sodapop whistled as I walked by him and Darry to get to the bathroom. I toweled off my hair one last time before grabbing a bottle of cologne off the shelf. I didn't own any, because I never really left the house enough to need one. Darry had a few, and Sodapop had a collection. So I snatched the first one I could find off of Sodapop's section of the counter and doused myself in it.
It was a lot... stronger than I expected. I coughed a few times, waving my hands in the air to try and dissipate the smell. I reasoned with myself that it would go away by the time I got there.
I stepped out to see Sodapop and Darry pulling on their shoes. "Nuh uh, No way. You two ain't coming." I said, grabbing my own. They both threw me weird looks. "What do you think he'll say when I pull up to his home with a secret agent and a traitor in my backseat? Huh?" They both shared a look. "We can just drop you off." Sodapop reasoned. "Over my dead body! Don't you think that'll be a little suspicious? Besides, he probably has all kinds of crazy gates and security measures I have to get past."
Darrel frowned. "It will be over your dead body! What if something happens? How will you reach us?" He asks, him and Soda practically chasing after me. "Nothings gonna' happen! And if, for some reason, something does-" I looked around the room, stealing a handful of coins from the collection plate we left on the counter. "There's telephone booths every ten feet. I can use one of those."
Darrel and Sodapop both looked none the happier, but sent me off with a wish for good luck.
12:47 pm
12.18.41
New York City
Shepherd Residence
The home was on the outskirts of town, hidden by thick trees and winding roads. It took me a while to get used to checking the map and making sure I didn't drive clean off the side of the road, but I managed. When I got closer, there were no guards. No crazy gateway entries, nobody stopping and asking for my name, not even a 'no trespassing' sign. For a moment I thought I went to the wrong place. But then I saw it.
The house was gorgeous. I had always been a fan of the tuscan style homes, but this one really outdid itself. It wasn't even that big- but each and every window was adorned with hanging flowers and carved wooden frames. The house was made completely out of stone, a large cursive 'S' painted on the side. All of the windows were colorful stained glass and the door was a dark oak, carved with flowers and suns. There was a stone pathway lined with colorful flowers and thick leaves, a large willow tree hanging over the entire front yard. I couldn't help the small laugh that left me at the tire swing out front, and the football that was clearly lost in the yard some time ago.
The whole place was lined with a white picket fence, a large canopy gate with vines twisting in and out of it being the only security the house had. I parked my car just outside the front and stepped out, immediately feeling a sense of overwhelming peace. I took a step closer to the gate, halfway wondering if this was actually the wrong house.
The place felt too... homey. Not that mob bosses can't have a good home life, but last I checked Bambi didn't seem old enough to have any kids or a spouse. Why would he need a tire swing? Why would he need (what looks like) the remnants of an old tree house? There was even a small red dog house off to the side with a name I couldn't read painted across the front!
There were still little things about the place that tipped me off. I was at the right place. There was a large heavy-duty lock on the front gate, a small security camera hidden in the vines, and there were a few bullet holes in the old willow tree.
I didn't have much time to think about it. The second my hand touched the gate, a big rottweiler started jumping at me from the other side. It was barking and snarling like a lunatic, and I was almost sure it could jump the fence if it wanted to.
Just as I was going to take a step back, the front door opened. I was far enough away that I couldn't really see his face, but I knew who it was. I could hear his laughter ring through the air as he scampered over to where his dog was a few moments away from hopping the fence and tearing my face open. "Down boy!" He scolded. I watched as he placed a hand atop the rapid dog's head, scratching behind its ears until it calmed down.
"My apologies." He sighed, "This ol' dog had yet to learn any new tricks other than 'bite and attack'." He said guiltily.
"Don't worry about it. I know it's kind of in their nature." I shrugged, looking at the creature wearily. Bambi frowned, and I immediately knew I said something wrong.
Way to go, idiot.
"It's not. It's how we raise them- Here." He lightly took my hand and held it to the dog's face. For a moment I was sure I'd be leaving the exchange with one less finger, but then it just... sniffed me. It took one look back at him as if to ask 'is this one okay?' before licking me. I couldn't help but smile, the dog was rather cute when it wasn't a rapid beast.
"What's his name?" I asked, mirroring the way Bambi had scratched him behind the ears. "Abu." He said with a roll of his eyes. "Like the dog from 'The Thief of Bagdad'. My brother loves the hell out of that movie." He explained.
"I didn't realize he was a rottweiler." I muttered. Sodapop had also been a big fan of the movie when it first came out, so I had seen it a few more times than I'm proud of. "He wasn't." He shrugged. "I don't exactly credit him for his creativity." He added with a chuckle.
He seemed to realize right then that we were on different sides of a locked gate and undid the turnlock in record time. Once we were both on the same side of the fence, Abu practically knocked me over while trying to lick my face. Bambi rolled his eyes, telling the dog to 'knock it off'.
Once the dog had made its place known beside him, he turned back to me. "Lovely to see you again, Mr.Ricci." He smiled, holding out his hand. I knew what he wanted but I didn't know if I had the heart to do it. I'd seen enough mafia movies to know that it was custom to kiss their hand. With a quiet sigh I leaned down, taking his hand in mine and placing a soft kiss atop his ring.
He pulled it back immediately, like I had actually burned him. He wiped his hand on his jacket like it had a disease now, sticking his tongue out in utter disgust. "Don't- Everyone always does that! Why does everyone do that?" He cried, making the dog bark at me.
"S-Sorry, I thought-" I began, but he just shook his head. "Yeah Yeah, it's custom. I hate it." He paused. "Never- Never do that again, okay? A simple handshake will suffice." He sputtered, still on edge. Oh... He wanted me to shake his hand. So I kissed another man for nothing!?
I shook his hand while whispering about sixteen more apologies.
He motioned me to follow him inside, shutting the large door behind us. The inside was just as nice. There were flowery wallpapers and paintings as far as the eye could see, floors adorned with magnificent carpets and dark oak furniture. I began to take off my shoes, still gawking at the beauty of the place. "Oh, and make sure you-" He turned back to face me, stopping dead in his tracks. I stopped and looked up at him. "What?" I asked, confused. He had a pleased smile on his face, shaking his head half-heartedly. "Nothing. It's just, most people track their dirty shoes all over the house."
"It was a rule for me, growing up." I shrugged, setting them both down neatly by the door. "Well, Your folks were smart people." He smiled. I didn't like how he used past-tense for my parents, like he knew they were dead. But I kept my mouth shut. His eyes followed me as I stood back up, raising his brows in amusement.
"You wore red." He muttered. "Yeah- I figured you liked red." I shrugged, realizing just then how weird it was to analyze someone's favorite color and then make a point to wear it. He didn't seem to have an issue with it, humming pleasantly. "I do." He smiled, then paused. "You like purple, I presume?" I could tell he was holding back a laugh, and decided it was safe to roll my eyes.
I felt like a kid for a moment, walking into a new friend's home. He offered me a tour and I was too curious to say no. It looked a lot bigger on the inside, the home was longer than it was wide.
It had gotten awkwardly silent for a moment, and I realized that I was quite literally staring at him. "Don't take this the wrong way," he raised a brow, "but you aren't what I expected when I heard of your families... tendencies."
Darry and Soda had both told me of the bloody scenes the Shepherds often left behind them, eyes wide with terror and shock.
I could see him frown in my peripherals. It took me a moment to realize why. "I don't mean looks. You just- I don't know. You seem like a normal guy. I could see us being friends outside of work, even." I added, rambling a bit in the hopes I hadn't angered him.
His eyes widened at the 'friend' comment, before he quickly snapped back into nonchalance. Like he caught himself reacting and he stomped it down... "Yeah, well... this isn't The Godfather." He paused. "That movie is terribly inaccurate." He scoffed.
"Tell me about it." I groaned, hoping to match his annoyance well enough.
We walked around a few more rooms downstairs, including the living room that seemed really out of character. Much like my own childhood home, each dresser and table was littered with family photos. I glanced around at them, recognizing the Shepard kids.
They looked like a happy family... There were photos of an older woman I didn't recognize, though she bore a striking resemblance to Angela. There were only three photos of who I assumed was their father, in two of which he was smoking and frowning. The final photo had all four kids holding... hand guns? In which he was smiling proudly down at them.
I noticed not a single photo had the man next to me in them.
Ouch.
"So... Do you have a wife? Or- a girlfriend?" I asked, trying to make conversation. He laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. "Sorry-" I quickly added, "I don't really know how old you are."
Bambi shook his head halfheartedly. "Don't you know it's rude to ask people that?" He raises an eyebrow. I could tell he was poking fun at me, but I still apologized.
"Don't worry about it. Besides, I don't really do dating." He shrugged. He must've seen my confused look, because he kept speaking. "Most people are attracted to men or women. Me? I prefer a sick pair of brass knuckles."
I laughed at first, before the idea really set in. Never knowing true love, only enjoying violence... God, that sounds like a sour existence.
"That's kind of sad." I said before I could stop myself. I covered my mouth when he turned to me. I expected him to be angry, maybe a little annoyed. But he still played at being calm.
"Love is nothing but a tender trap my friend, learned that the hard way." He shrugged. I couldn't help my own frown. Ever since I was little I dreamed of finding my soulmate, my other half... The idea of never believing in that never occurred to me.
"Hmm, maybe I could set you up with someone." I joked. Before adding, "Everyone needs love, y'know." I left off the 'even you' that was itching my tongue. It seemed I didn't need to. "Do they?" He asked, a little quieter than before.
"Well, I guess not. But life's kind of sad without it, right?" I smiled down at him. He didn't look at me. "Yeah... I guess it is." He muttered, almost like he didn't want me to hear. He was staring up at a family portrait with everybody in it.
It took a few moments before he caught himself, shaking his head and beckoning me to follow him elsewhere.
We walked through a few more rooms until we made it upstairs. Hanging right at the opening was a portrait of the same old man from the photos. He was wearing the same suit Bambi had worn the first time we met.
I wasn't going to comment. But the boy let his eyes linger on the painting for a little too long for me to not be curious.
"Who is that?" I asked before I could stop myself. "That, my dear friend, is the Mr.Shepherd. The man who saved my life." Bambi said, looking upon him with pride. "I thought you were Mr.Shepherd?" I muttered confusedly.
"Do I look old enough to have three kids?" He asked, raising a brow. "Well, no. But you'd still technically be 'Mr.Shepherd', right?"
Bambi simply shook his head
"So- You're not a Shepherd?" I knew I shouldn't keep asking questions, but I felt compelled to know. Besides, this could be good intell. "Are you kidding? Look at him and then look at me." He chuckled, pointing at the painting and then himself.
It's true, he looked nothing like any of them. His complexion and eyes were much darker than everyone else's. His features were still a lot softer, even compared to when they were kids.
"If you're not one of them, what's your real name?" I asked, looking back up at the painting. "None of your damn business." He bit back. Alright, safe to assume that's a touchy topic. But...
"Who's your real father then?" I asked, a little less confident I'd get an answer. "No one important." He mumbled, rolling his shoulders. We stayed silent for a long time, the portrait of Mr.Shepherd glaring down at us.
"My father was a swabbie. If that's what you're asking." He said after a long time, beginning to walk to the left. I followed behind with a wince. "I'm sorry. My uncle was one, he was never home." Is that why Bambi was never in any family portraits? I assume he and the Shepherds are at least cousins... maybe they took care of him when his parents weren't around?
"Oh, my father was always home." He paused, looking back at me with a chuckle. "Ol' geezer never got off his keister. He was 80 before he turned 40." I laughed along with him, never hearing that statement before.
We walked around a few more rooms, passing up three that he claimed belonged to other people. I have a feeling I know who, but I didn't push. We got to his room, and I noticed that he seemed a little embarrassed.
It was a bit more empty than most of the other rooms, but it was still well done. There was a cork board similar to Darry's, but instead of incriminating images there were photos of what I assumed to be his friend. I recognized Tim, Curly, Angela, Slick, Comma.... There were quite a few more folks I didn't recognize.
He wasn't in half the photos, but judging by the camera resting on his nightstand I assumed he was the photographer.
"Y'Know... Comma looks a lot less rude in these." I commented, even though he was evidently trying to get me to look away from the photos. "What do you mean?" He asks, tilting his head a little while zeroing in on a photo of him. "I don't know... I always feel like he's judging everything. Here," I pointed to his bright smile, "he looks like he donates to charities and shit."
Bambi laughed, shaking his head. "He's a pretty non-judgmental sort, when you look away from how he constantly judges people." He shrugs, crossing his arms. "He helps me with a lot of the nicknames, so I don't mind him much."
"Speaking of, how did you get the name Bambi?" I asked. He rolled his eyes, breathing a sigh out through his teeth. "Two reasons." He paused, thinking for a moment. "The main one was that I looked like a frightened deer when they first found me."
I didn't ask what he meant by 'found me'. "What's the other one?" I smiled, thinking of a young Bambi with big eyes filled with child-like wonder. He stared at me for a long time.
"I hit a pregnant deer with the get-away car on my first outing." He muttered. If I didn't know better I would've thought he was embarrassed.
I let free a single laugh, causing his face to go bright red. "It's not that funny." He muttered.
Before I could reply, the shrill sound of a bell rang from somewhere inside the home. "Foods ready." He stated simply, walking out of the room with me following close behind.
We sat down at the dining room table, carved from dark oak in intricate patterns I could barely make out. Two people (I thought we were alone?) stepped out from the kitchen, setting plates down in front of each of us.
There were small salads, a steak with some kind of green noodles next to it, and glasses of water. I was a little weary to eat it, but a chef on each side cut off a piece and ate it before walking off.
I threw him a weird look, to which he shrugged. "The chef who made this tried to poison us when we were kids. Ever since then they've had to do... that." Bambi said casually, like it was normal to worry about being poisoned.
"Why didn't you, I don't know... kill them?" I asked, whispering. Bambi smiled. "You never kill a good cook." He paused. "Besides, he wasn't trying to kill me."
I decided not to ask anymore questions.
We ate in silence for a long time, I was almost done when he spoke up again. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard of you." Bambi states plainly. I hope and pray he doesn't see my fear.
"That's how you know I'm good at what I do." I smiled, hoping to sound as egotistical as I can. Bambi smiles back at me and I feel safe again. It looks like he wants to say something but he takes another bite, resting his cheek in his hand.
"So... are you ever going to tell me your real name?" He asks, losing all humor in his voice. I was so shocked that I barely managed to sputter out, "What do you mean?" I reply while trying my best to not choke.
He points his fork at me with his free hand. "Obviously you're not Italian. I find it hard to believe you're from the Sicilian mafia." He pauses, and I wonder if he's going to keep going. I relax a little when he doesn't, though I'm still on high alert.
"Y'know how it is, my momma was screwin' with the milkman." Ponyboy chuckles, trying to hide his obviously fake accent. "Besides, Slick and Comma thought I was Italian."
"Those two are as sharp as marbles. Fact-resilient, even. I'm shocked they even remembered where the room was. Besides..." He paused to glare at me. I was sure I was caught, but determined to try and get out of it.
That was, until he finished his sentence.
"I've met the full extent of the Ricci family. Never once have I heard a single mention of you."
I gulped, loud enough that he surely heard me. "Well, just like-" I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to find every excuse in the book. "Like how you go by 'Bambi' and Curly goes by 'Alf', I don't think it's smart to give out my name to total strangers."
He stands abruptly glaring down at me. "Curly?" He asks, raising a brow. Immediately I realized my mistake. I tried to backtrack, come up with anything to get him off my case. But he quickly spoke again.
"Do you not trust me?" He sounded almost upset. Like a kid who was just told Santa wasn't real.
"Why would I? We've just met." I reply slowly. He smiles, sitting back down in his chair. "Are you sure?"
When I don't reply, he crosses his arms. He shakes his head slowly, still laughing... I watch him silently, fearful of what a single movement could cause.
"Do you think I'm an idiot, Ponyboy?" He bites out, teeth bared. It takes me a moment before I even notice he said my name. "How-!" I begin, standing quickly.
Suddenly I hear a loud metal sound, then a sharp pain in the back of my head. I fall forward, my head slamming down against the table. I have no control over my body as I slide off onto the floor, my vision already going black.
I catch a glimpse of Tim with a frying pan, standing over me with an evil smirk. My vision goes completely black, but I can still hear- the faint sounds of shuffling, and the inevitable sound of Bambi's voice.
"Jesus Tim, you didn't have to hit him that hard." He mutters, the sound of wood scraping against wood as he stands. "You said 'hit him hard enough to knock him out', that's what I did." Tim replies casually. "Besides, little asshole deserves it after what he did to you."
"Don't talk like that." Bambi grumbled, sounding closer now.
As I felt my body being dragged against the wooden floor, I could only think one thing.
What did I ever do to him?