Dallas Winston in New York

I do not own the Outsiders

Chapter 1

Dallas Winston woke up itchy. He scratched himself while he put on his leather jacket. "Bugger New York" he grumbled as he stretched his arms. He was fourteen, tall, tough, and grumpy in the morning. He had lived in New York for three years now, and had spent the half of all those nights on the streets, and the other half in jail. Dallas looked around. He had spent this night in a dumpster that had been mercifully empty. Judging by the number of cars and people, it was around 10:00 am. It was another day on the wild side of New York for Dallas Winston. Dallas leaned against a telephone pole, groping in his pocket for a cigarette. He found nothing, but that would change when the gang showed. "No use waitin' here" Dally muttered and started walking down the street looking for some action. New York was a really big city and depending on where you were, it was different. There were a lot of decent neighbourhoods in the city. But the place where Dallas hung out was as bad as it got. Rape, kidnapping, fights, and death was always possible. Dallas didn't care, because his friends were the kind who'd do it. And if it came to it, he wouldn't be scared to fight.

Dally had been walking for a while now. He grinned as he pictured a snobby, well- dressed kid with his posse looking in awe at a dangerous, tough hood like him. And Dallas was tough. He had been arrested at the age of ten when he'd almost half killed a guy who had been twice his size. He remembered it very well. He had been hanging out with an old friend of his who had moved away a month later, when this cute girl walks by. Dallas couldn't resist but to say really nasty stuff about her until she began to cry. Then her boyfriend showed up; he had been a husky hazel-eyed 16-year-old. He thought Dally's friend, who would have stood up for her if he hadn't arrived, had made her cry. Neither Dallas nor his friend was ready for the teenager knocking Dally's friend out cold with a blow to the face. Dally had gotten really angry. His old man hated him and had used to kick him around until Dallas had gotten big enough to kick back. Then he just stopped knowing Dallas was even alive. Seeing the leer on the guy's face after he did what he thought was awesome made Dally pull out his blade. He didn't even warn the guy, but screamed swear words at him as he stomped him. It didn't take long for the cops to arrive and wrestle Dally off the teenager. Dallas had stayed in jail for two weeks until the cops had to call his dad and make him pick up his juvenile son. During the time in jail, Dally had 'celebrated' his eleventh birthday. Dally just got worse then on, and he started to become used to the sight of the police station.

He never saw the girl or her boyfriend again. Dallas liked to think they were forced to move away as the cops were worried that Dally would kill them both. He never could figure out what he would have done if given the chance, but mostly didn't care. He was Dallas Winston and he didn't care about any sissy girl and her jerk of a boyfriend.

Chapter 2

It was an hour before Dallas found the place he was looking for. It was one of pedestrian malls in New York. It had everything: restaurants, bookshops, corner shops, stalls, video stores, music stores, even a theatre. People went there all the time because there was something for everyone at any time of day. There was always a huge variety of people there from everywhere in the city. Dallas could have found at least a hundred people like him with if he'd wanted to, but he didn't feel like looking hard. He never looked for the gang, it either found him or he just ran into it. Dally walked past a hot dog stall as two good-looking girls walked by. He stared at their backsides and whistled. The two of them looked back at him scathingly and one of them cussed at him. Dallas spat at her feet, grinned and walked on. He liked to do stuff like that. It seemed as if he was born to it.

Dallas looked around for one of those shops where they sell a bit of everything. He had enough money for cigarettes, but mostly just stole them. It was easy for him to do. The first time he did it was when he was five. He had been at a shop with his cousin. He had seen a pack of gum he liked, and without thinking, took it. It was no problem; he had almost made it out of the shop when an elderly woman had shrieked "Thief!" and had grabbed him by the ear. Dally had just managed to get out of the situation of punishment when Dally's cousin had torn him out of the lady's grip and the two of them had run like the devil was after them. He was eventually caught and his dad fined, but he had been filled with the fact that it had been so easy. He had almost got away too. From then on, he had stolen until he had honed his skills to perfection.

Getting a pack of cigarettes was no problem. Dallas continued on his way insulting girls, calling out at guys he knew, and going in and out of different stores. He ended up in a magazine shop thumbing through Playboy and other stuff like that. The storeowner found out what he was doing, however, and kicked him out. It was getting into the late afternoon and he had just walked two blocks away from the shop when a guy grabbed him from behind and spun him around so that they were face-to-face. Dallas didn't get time to see who it was, because another guy had slugged him in the face. Sprawled on the ground, Dallas was soon surrounded by three guys. All of them looked like they meant business, but one guy was smiling. Dally knew those green eyes, red wavy hair, worn jeans jacket, and scarred face.

Chapter 3

"Damn you Miles," Dallas snarled as he stayed where he was, knowing any move would invite more blows. Miles Barker was a street kid around three years older than Dallas, and with a reputation of a quick temper. Miles had run away from his drunk of a father's home and had lived in New York all his life. He was a hood, he was born a hood, and he would die a hood.

Miles and Dallas had hated each other since they laid eyes on one another. Dally never understood why. They were two of a kind if they saw through to each other. Be that as it may, Dally was now at the mercy of Miles and two of his gang. "Say Winston,' Miles had a rasping voice after his old man had hit him when he was a baby, 'how'd you like to see what your face looks like after we rearrange it for you?" The other guys sniggered, and Dally knew he was gonna have to fight, "What's the matter, Winston? Lost your voice?" Now the other guys were laughing hard.

Quick and without thinking, Dallas retorted with a snappy rude comeback, deliberately swearing at least ten times. Miles stopped smiling instantly. He was dangerous when angry. "Being smart with me, Winston? Fine." Dallas, knowing it was useless to get up, let alone fight, shut his eyes tightly bracing himself.

All of a sudden there were yells, footsteps, and sounds of fighting. Dally opened his eyes in time for Miles to fall down hard on him after being pushed. Throwing Miles off him, Dally looked around to see the other two running away. His gang had found him. Laughing, he kicked Miles' rear end as he got up after his cronies. Then he turned to the six friends he had known for the past two years of his life in New York. Hoods that he called friends.

Ralph Monsey was fifteen, brown-haired, 5'5 and stout in all means. He was a dropout from high school and had loved the freedom ever since. He lived on the street, having a mother who cared about her new boyfriend more than her son. Ralph was a smart, enduring kid and could take pressure really well. He was also a strong fighter and anybody who fought him knew personally. Dally liked Ralph; he was a loyal friend and was a great help when you needed him.

Tim Shepard was Dally's best friend. They were around the same age and thought exactly alike. Looks were their biggest difference. Tim had rough, blue-black hair to Dally's light blond, and while Dally had light blue eyes, Tim's were black. Tim had been in New York for a while now. His parents, his 10 year-old brother named Curly, and his 9 year-old sister named Angela lived down in the southwest, but Tim was living with his uncle and two older cousins. He was going to be a hood all his life, just like Dally.

Moe Freeman was the oldest of the gang at twenty-two years old. His skin was rough, and scarred by childhood allergies. It was the colour of milk chocolate. Moe was a Bob Marley fan and had fashioned his black hair into dreadlocks. He owned a variety shop in one of those pedestrian malls. His business kept him away from the gang a lot of the time, and besides, he didn't care about fighting too much anyway. He was the only one of them who had completed high school and it showed. He was the smartest one of them with the most sense. He always had something to say for the moment.

Roy Fisher was the most physically strong of the gang. He was seventeen, tough, and with a face that gave the impression to people that he was all brawn no brain. Brown curls and a dullish face that lied about Roy's actual intelligence. He was as streetwise as the rest of them and he had the experience. He had been on the street ever since the age of nine after his parents died and his 26-year old cousin adopted him. He had more sources than anyone. He was like a Mafia Leader with all the favours and friends he could turn to for help.

Chuck Lloyd was the youngest at thirteen years old, and he tried desperately to overcome it. He was skinny, quiet, but streetwise enough. He was great at hotwiring cars and stealing because he had the look of an innocent naïve kid, which made people trust him on sight. Chuck always seemed awed by people like Tim and Roy, but the whole gang had always accepted him. He was a great help with girls, as he had good looks for a hood, with reddish hair and milky skin that was freckled around his nose. Chuck was always there for the gang, even if they were doing something he didn't like. He could have had a great future, but he would always put the gang first.

Bill Florence was the hardest one of the gang with the biggest police record, the toughest reputation, and the most tragic past. His father had been murdered and his mother, short on money, had become a barmaid to support her son. Bill had been only five when this happened. Rumours said he had eventually found his father's murderer and had cut his throat. Whatever happened, his mother had been terrified to death of her son and had dumped him onto the street. It had left him with a hatred of the world and a desire to run wild so as to bring the world down with him. Bill was solid rock, hard, with a face that seemed to be chiselled out of stone. He had long black hair that he greased so that it rolled up, curving to the back of his head. He was sixteen, dangerous, tough, indestructible, and bitter.

"How'd you get surrounded like that Dal?' Ralph was always curious about stuff, no matter what it was, 'I mean, you're not blind, how'd they do it?"

"If you gotta know, it was unfair. The morons grabbed me from behind and slugged me," Dallas explained with a grin on his face. He pulled out his unopened pack of cigarettes. "I swiped these earlier. Anyone want one?"

Soon the whole gang was lounging around smoking and talking. Dallas was glad he had friends like these; they were the right kind for him.

Roy looked at his wrist, forgetting he didn't have a watch. "Hey Moe, what time does your watch say it is?

Moe checked his watch. "6:00 pm. Why?"

Roy smiled, then got up and started walking towards the nearest alley. He said only one name to the rest of them, but it was all they needed to hear. "Frank Miller."