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"A reputation walks into a bar," said Two-Bit.
So everybody waited. Two-Bit stood in front of a display of candy and chocolates and picked up a Mars bar, and grinned because he knew everyone was waiting.
"Yeah, and?" said Sodapop, grinning along because he never could resist doing so. "What's the punch line?"
"We might find out, if we hang around and see. It might even be literal." Two-Bit raised his eyebrows and nodded to the corner of the convenience store, and standing there was - that guy.
"Oohh," Sodapop said, drawling the sound with interest, "that guy."
"This ain't a bar, and that joke ain't funny," Steve said. He talked too loudly - he obviously wanted to attract attention. He succeeded, so that the guy looked over and noticed their eyes on him. He seemed to waver, seemed to lean towards them, but then he left the shelf of combs he'd been standing in front of and went to the next aisle, out of sight.
"What, that's it?" said Sodapop, craning to get a glimpse over the top of the aisle. "I expected a lot more, with all the gossip. Did he lift anything?"
"You got him wise to us, jerk," Two-Bit said, jostling Steve without meaning much by it, and Steve shoved him back good-naturedly enough. That would have been it, if Ponyboy had kept up his good-kid-brother-tagging-along state of quietness.
Instead he said, "Who's that guy?"
They ribbed him for not knowing, and Ponyboy stewed for the rest of the afternoon. They wouldn't listen when he explained, he did know a little about that guy - but only stories that everybody said were probably made up. While they kidded around, though, it came out that they only knew those stories too.
But the thing was, everybody was telling them. The guy had been in town a little over a week, and the reputation that had trailed along was strong enough that everybody was saying more or less the same thing. Part of the reputation was that he was a hell of a liar (especially when you put him in front of a cop uniform), and from his answers to questions about himself, he sure seemed to live up to it. Of course, a guy on the run from a mile-long rap sheet wasn't likely to be real forthcoming. Still - watch him, and he made something about all of his reputation pretty easy to believe.
The general conclusion was that it was worth keeping an eye on Dallas Winston.
*
He doesn't need anyone. It's not something he knows - well, it's not something he thinks about. It's something that comes to Dallas Winston as naturally as breathing.
Easy to see, too. Hardly knowing two people in town, he waltzes into Tulsa and works to settle in. He's pretty easy to watch out for, being alone a lot, having that mess of blond hair.
It's all in the body. Dallas doesn't talk enough for it to make any kind of a study, and anyway, half the time he speaks it's in a kind of code. It's all slang and tough talk, occasionally even throwing in a line, when he's in a crowd, to make the guys laugh. Talking is a way to get into fights, half the time. The mind isn't much of a tool for him either. There are too many things it doesn't pay to think about.
The body has a way of thinking on its own, and any greaser knows it's the best tool anyone's provided. It's one thing that's always there, so it's the one thing you depend on.
He walks like all the boys in the neighbourhood, trailing around gas stations, little shops, bars, and the rodeo in a slouch. It's a sneaky walk, and at the same time a badge that said 'this is what I am' to people that wore Madras shirts and had more money than they had sense or looks (or teeth, when Dallas had anything to do with it). The walk also makes it easy to turn a shoulder to the attacker rather than your front, and it makes it easier to hide whatever shiny metal object, blunt or sharp, might require hiding.
Dallas is short, though, so when he's not grinning like a living insult, he stretches up and his head comes up. That's when he's angry, and when he's proud. When he's dangerous he goes through all those at once - a grin while he's thinking what he's gonna do, then down into the slouch as he gets ready to jump, and then he's proud again, eyes flashing and straight into his lucky partner for the fight, because he's proud of what he's doing and he wants everything to be clear. Dallas is not a liar, if you don't listen to a word he says.
He's all fight and fierceness, and for all that a guy like that knows it's good to have another fighter at your back, he's not made to need anyone else to keep himself alive.
*
Dallas joined their gang a few weeks after arriving in Tulsa, mostly because nobody told him to go.
Two-Bit had been talking to him the longest, since they happened to be in the same crowd sometimes, but it became official when Dallas came to the Curtis home with Sodapop - as official as it got, at any rate. The understanding was that he wasn't about to hang out with, say, the Robbins' gang in the same way. Dallas didn't mention anything about a ritual to get in with them - nothing like holding up a liquor store or stealing a car or anything, the way rumour said you had to in New York. Ponyboy chalked it up as a mild disappointment.
He still didn't stop watching Dallas. Watching people was interesting, especially when you tried to sketch them later on. It started feeling normal to have Dallas around pretty quick, once everybody stopped trying to look extra tuff when he came around, but ... well, Ponyboy still got the feeling that it was also safer to keep watching. Quietly, so Dallas didn't notice and get ticked off.
Besides, he was curious. There didn't seem to be much in the way of a reason for Dallas picking their gang. It was probably because 'safety in numbers' was a solid plan in their neighbourhood, but it was strange to consider that Dallas might as well have flipped a coin to decide who to hang out with day after day, becoming a kind of family.
"Sometimes I wonder about him," Darry said grimly as they sat around the kitchen table. It took Dallas a few weeks to join them - and three more to get arrested. He'd barely been in Tulsa for a month; Darry wasn't happy, to put it lightly. "And why the hell didn't he throw away that pipe?"
"What, are you surprised?" Ponyboy said. He was ignoring the English homework spread out in front of him. He was in awe simply from hearing the story of the arrest, but wasn't sure he wanted to be.
"I was," Sodapop said. "He stood there grinning at the policeman, holding the pipe right out in the open. It's not like it was hard to see the blood..." He caught Darry's look. "Hey, like I said, those other guys jumped us. You woulda fought back just as hard."
Darry rolled his shoulders, equal parts trying to relax and shrugging. "I guess we already knew what the guy was like."
"We know," Ponyboy pointed out. "We know him. He's one of us."
"I'm not saying we write him off," Darry said. "That's not the way we do things. Besides, he saved Soda's pretty little face from getting any more beat in."
"Yeah, laugh it up," Sodapop said, fingering the shine on his skin that was shaping up into a glorious black eye.
"I'm saying we heard all that stuff about him, before we got to know him. There's no point acting surprised now, but it's worth keeping in mind that Dallas is more dangerous than we might like to think."
He always made the most of his Eldest Brother act. Ponyboy couldn't really fight about his point, though. The whole thing was (and he wondered if he could work this word into his homework) precarious. Same as there wasn't much of a reason for Dallas to join them, there wasn't much of a reason for them to let him join.
The main thing was that he was a good guy to have on your side of a fight. He shared his five-finger discounts and whatever free rodeo tickets he got as a bonus. Whatever Darry said, for him it was a big plus that Dallas could hold down that job at the rodeo - the words 'steady job' were like magic with him. It probably also counted, though not obviously, that Dallas was impressive, in that way Ponyboy wasn't sure he liked; he really, really didn't care, which somehow meant he could do anything. Dallas had also met a kind of minimum requirement - he had let Johnny stay over with him and hadn't made a big deal out of it. Johnny asked for it pretty often, so he didn't like to do it often with the same person, and Dallas got out into his mental list of options quickly. The first time he asked if he could stay over, Dallas barked "What?" and looked floored - then he gave Johnny a look up and down, saw how he was embarrassed and, as always, bruised. So he looked away and said yeah, it was okay. When told, later, about Johnny's parents, he nodded and never mentioned it.
Ponyboy liked Dallas. Kind of. He liked watching him. The unpredictability made it interesting - even if you knew what was coming, it might not be easy to figure out why, or it might be hard to believe anyway. He wasn't as dangerous to them as he might be to anyone else - he'd leave them if he needed to blow off steam in some crazy way, so most of the time he was one of the guys, not that guy from New York, did you hear—
A reputation walks into a bar, but it might settle in and stick around. Sure, there'd be trouble, but no reason to expect it to get worse.
But later, he figured that Dallas only joined the gang properly that time when he stopped a fight. They didn't know what a big deal it was, then. They didn't know it never, ever happened, and it was over really quickly.
It was him, Soda, Johnny, and Dally. He and Sodapop were buying a couple of things for the house, and the other two were waiting outside - and by the time they'd got away from the checkout counter, things outside were shaping up for a rumble. Ponyboy exchanged a look with his brother, looked over his shoulder with a slightly crazy idea of running back to pick up some steak knives, then bust through the doors and act real tough. Darry would be ticked off if they broke the eggs...
"Hey," he said, events interrupting his thoughts.
"Well, hey," Sodapop repeated. "What do you know?"
Three of the other guys were talking, no longer paying all that much attention. The rest, also three, were relaxing. Dally stood in front of Johnny, who was backed up against the door of the store. There was a smudge of hair oil on the glass.
Ponyboy and Sodapop went through the panel of the door beside that. Soda smiled, Ponyboy tried to look tough enough, but not too tough. Dallas was saying, "Didn't mean anything by it. Look, I said I was sorry."
Which nearly had Ponyboy choking. It was about the last thing he expected out of Dally's mouth. Why not throw in a pledge to restart high school? Join a church? At least he didn't really sound all that sorry. More like neutral. It took the fight off boil, though, and all the four of them did was to keep some attention at their backs - a casual look, careful listening - and they got out of the store's parking lot without trouble.
"What was that about?" Soda asked Johnny.
"Messing around. They looked like idiots, thought they should know," Dallas said, but he was also speaking to Johnny. "It was dumb. Nothing to get nervous about."
Ponyboy winced, and Johnny's head came up from its customary downward turn. That was just how Johnny looked - it didn't mean he was nervous, and it sure didn't mean he couldn't fight. But fighting with Dallas... "Are you calling me chicken?"
"No, I haven't seen you in a fight yet," Dallas snapped. He sounded a little mad, but there was frustration to his face - Ponyboy thought he was also mad because he didn't feel madder. He was eyeing Johnny kind of weird, but not in a worrying way. "I thought you might not really be into that, and didn't feel like dealing with six guys alone. I didn't call you chicken, did I? Did I?"
The words sure sounded like he was picking a fight, but he only elbowed Johnny in the side.
"You didn't say it," said Johnny, a little obstinate in spite of the admission, and Ponyboy kept thinking how even Darry didn't want to take on Dallas.
Dallas only said, "Then I didn't mean it. If I don't say it, then I don't mean it, all right?"
"All right," Johnny mumbled.
"What are you scared of? For future reference." By now, Dally was playing.
Johnny gave Dallas a long look. He shrugged, looked around, and then smiled. "Everything," he said, rolling his eyes at himself. And he elbowed Dally back. "But I ain't chicken."
Dally did the most awkward thing in the world. He ruffled a greaser's hair, which ended in wiping his hand on the inside of his jacket and grinning as Johnny whined at him about messing up the hair. "Dumb kid."
Ponyboy could see Johnny react at that - a double take, almost a flinch. Maybe Johnny heard that too often at home. He saw Johnny forgive Dally, too, ambling after him and being playful back.
"Aw," said Sodapop, like a TV studio audience would. He was listening as hard as Ponyboy, and by the way he raised his eyebrows at Dally and Johnny behind them, too quick for them to notice, he was as surprised. "Real cute."
Ponyboy raised his eyebrows back in agreement. He sort of felt like the next time he turned around it would be a fight, but those two kept on kidding around. "They must have got to know each other okay. Johnny's stayed over at Dally's place a couple of times by now, hasn't he? But it was just a couple of times!"
Sodapop grinned and made his voice very low. "Nice to know Dally actually has a soft spot for something besides horses and kicking faces in. And Johnnycake! Says he's scared of everything, and he doesn't even seem to know he could be scared of Dallas."
"Yeah, well." Ponyboy shrugged, considering it. He wondered a little about what Dallas had got away from in New York, stuff the stories hadn't touched on, and if Johnny was likely to have heard about it. "I guess he figures he doesn't have to be. Dallas is one of us."
*
Watch Dallas Winston and you might get scared. Only the most paranoid Soc, a Soc grandma maybe, would get scared while watching Johnny Cade.
The guy's got that greaser sneakiness in how he holds himself; like he's going to slide through a crack at the first opportunity. If he's in his own crowd blending in is the best thing, and he'll hold himself like he's supposed to, as cool and as rough. But then there are the big, dark eyes, the knocks and cuts shaped onto his body. Johnny has the look - greasers pride themselves on it - but his twist on it is practically a declaration of friendship. He likes to be where he can keep his head ducked down, and in his own crowd he gives his trust easily. There's nowhere else to give it.
It's easy to shift in front of him when danger threatens, almost automatic, especially when the people in his gang don't really feel like a fight. It's easy to bump against him in the way buddies do; let him trail along in quiet on bad days when you could watch him jumping at shadows; to take him home. But think about it, and it's hard to imagine Dallas Winston doing all that.
He does it all the same.
Sometimes they're together, and no one's around to see. The results are pretty plain, though - Dallas looking at Johnny being happy to see him, and finding it less surprising all the time. Johnny's eyes shining as he tries to make Dallas smile and finding it easier than anyone else does.
Dallas watches, and he turns a little. Just a little. There might not be a smile or anything, but everything's facing a little bit downwards, stripped of sneakiness, facing towards one kicked puppy.
There's nothing dramatic, nothing people would really take note of to watch, since the whole thing's simple and bone-deep.
Dallas bends down a little, Johnny straightens up. It says things they never would.