DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Outsiders.

A love of danger and an eye for mischief was something Steve Randle and Dallas Winston had in common. Also, they both very much enjoyed revenge—revenge on the Socs, maybe for jumping their fellow greasers; revenge on authority, perhaps for unlawfully giving others preferential treatment over themselves; and revenge on Tim Shepard, perhaps for sleeping with Dally's girl, Sylvia. Well … Steve didn't exactly feel the need to get back at Shepard for that one, but he was still sore about the broken headlight Tim had caused weeks before. That was enough of a reason for him to help old Dallas execute his plan.

XXX

It was an unusually blistering hot spring day in Tulsa. The temperature in Tulsa was always high around March, but this day was simply abnormal, especially for nearing evening. "Hotter than Hell," Steve called it. He, Soda, and Frank were at least working the garage on that day, where they had a fan and a cooler for water and Coke. Steve almost felt bad for the poor kid manning the pumps that day, but he'd had to go through that shit for a while too, so he felt he'd earned his cushy position in the garage with a fan. The only downside was that girls didn't stop by the garage like they did the gas pumps. Steve didn't mind it too much, though. When in the zone, he wasn't interested in chatting up a girl; what mattered was the vehicle left in his care. Being trusted with a car like a 1966 Corvette Roadster gave him almost a better feeling than talking to a pretty, flirtatious girl … It wasn't any worse, anyway.

He rolled out from under the car, stood, and grabbed a Coke. "Man, it's hot out," he said, wiping his brow. "Almost too hot to be workin'."

"Yeah, no kidding," Soda replied, setting down the wrench he'd been using and closing the hood of the car.

Frank shrugged. "I don't mind it."

Steve looked at him smugly. He never liked Frank much. "That's 'cause you're from goddamn Laredo. We folks from the Great White North ain't big on hundred and fifty degree weather."

Frank rolled his eyes. "I gotta go grab a part inside," he said, and left the garage.

Taking a seat on a turned over crate, Steve held the Cola bottle between he middle and fore fingers, staring at the ground. He needed something to get his mind off the heat.

XXX

Dallas was pissed. He was pissed, and he'd continue to be pissed for at least twelve more hours. Plenty of time to do … something. The details would come later; the important thing now was that he was pissed.

He'd been sent to the hill for not even thirty days, and Sylvia still found time to sleep around. He dumped her for that, of course, "because Dallas Winston don't take no shit from some dumb-ass, two-timin' broad," but when he found out that she'd been messing around with Tim Shepard, well … something had to be done about it. Pronto. Shepard was a blasted punk, no doubt about it, and he needed to be taught a lesson. All Dallas needed was time to think about how exactly he'd teach it. He decided he might need to consult some help, but Two-Bit was too hard to track down, Darry was at work until late, and Pony and Johnny weren't exactly the devious type. Dallas set out for the DX.

XXX

Walking to the DX, Dallas was really starting to wish he'd borrowed Buck's car the night before. It was so damned hot you could cook an egg on the sidewalk.

As he neared it, he could make out the figures of Soda and Steve in the garage, standing around a car, but not doing much else. He couldn't blame them, though, with the weather being so crazy. He walked up past the gas pumps (nodding at a couple pretty Soc girls, who turned away in disgust), through the parking lot and over to the garage. "Hey, boys. Workin' hard?"

Steve looked up. Dallas looked like shit. That'd be expected, after a month in the cooler, but damn, didn't he own a razor, or an extra pair of clothes? "Hey, Dal. You didn't tell us you were out today," he said, standing to shake his hand. Soda followed suit.

Dallas shrugged. "Didn't know 'til today. So, what's goin' on with y'all?"

"Well, we were considerin' fixin' this car, but then remembered it ain't no fun working in Hades," Soda said with a smile.

"I swear I can feel the grease melting outta my hair," Steve added, taking out his comb to try and marginally maintain what was left of his hairstyle.

"See, now ya know why I don't wear any," Dallas said, leaning against the car.

"You don't wear any 'cause you don't wanna bother with it," Steve countered. "And don't lean on that, it's a '66 model." How people could be so careless around automobiles, Steve would never know.

Dallas didn't move; he'd been struck with an idea. "Hey, Steve, that Buick in the lot yours?"

Steve grinned widely, returning the comb to his pocket. "Oh, yeah, 1958 Buick Hardtop, a real beauty. She's fixed up real nice, huh? I been doin' some major work on her while you been gone. I'm plannin' on addin' a new exhaust soon, too. She'll really purr." God, he loved that thing.

"Yeah, yeah, all right." Dallas didn't mean to get Steve started on some car spiel, it was a simple question. "I'm currently lackin' a car right now. Think I could borrow it?"

Steve's eyebrows pursed. It was well-known that Dally wasn't the best driver … He wasn't sure he could trust him driving his pride and joy. "What do ya need it for?"

"I gotta get to Buck's tonight, and I need a quick getaway."

"What for?" Soda asked, eyebrows raised and interested.

Dallas pulled a blade out of his pocket and examined it. The cops took his good one when he got locked up, so all he had was his cousin's old hunting knife. Not much, but good enough to slash some tires until he got a new one. "I got a beef with that bastard Shepard. I'm plannin' on slashin' his tires real good."

Soda's excitement faded. "Ain't that what you did the last time? And he found out, and you two got into it?"

That almost pissed Dallas off. "Yeah, and as I recall, I walked away with a black eye, and Tim had a broken nose."

Soda glanced sideways at Steve, and got a pop from the cooler.

"All right, but don't you think Tim's gonna start expectin' you to slash his tires after every time he pisses you off? You oughta do something to throw him off a bit," Steve suggested. "And stop leanin' on the damn car."

Crossing his arms, Dallas chewed this over. Not a bad idea, not bad at all. "You get off work soon, Steve?"

"Uh …" he picked up the old clock on the shelf, "yeah, actually. I'm off in a couple minutes. How long you workin' tonight, Soda?"

He sighed. "I'm closin' tonight. Damn fulltime hours," Soda answered disappointedly.

Man, Steve hated Soda's fulltime hours, too. Seemed like whenever Steve wasn't in school, Soda was working. Coordinating schedules was annoying and too girly-sounding for him, too. Getting a job at the DX was supposed to make it easier. "What you got planned, Dally?"

"Cut outta here, man, I could use your help. Feel like gettin' back at Shepard for anything in particular?"

Steve nodded to himself, and looked at Soda, who shrugged. Steve picked up a rag and made an attempt at wiping some oil from his hands. "Will you clock out for me?" he asked Soda.

"No problem. See ya later tonight?"

Steve nodded, and shook his hand. "I'll probably stop by."

"Jesus, Randle, we're not shippin' off to Vietnam, all right? Let's go," Dallas said, agitated.

Steve removed his keys from his jeans pocket and walked with Dally to his car.

XXX

By the time they'd made it to Buck's place downtown, the sun was setting considerably, but the heat persisted despite it. The place was packed, and cars were parked all over the place, but Tim Shepard's was easy to spot. Steve pulled slowly over to it and put on the parking brake. "So what're we doin' to it?"

"Don't park here, go a few blocks back."

"Hell, no. It's hotter than Hell out, I ain't walkin' nowhere. What is it you're plannin' on doing?"

"We are getting rid of Shepard's clunker of a car for him. So park back a ways."

Steve grinned. "Creative. That's a good one, Dal. He deserves it, too."

Dallas nodded.

"But if you really wanna get to him, we oughta slash the tires of everyone in the Shepard gang. They can all walk home together in this blasted heat. Then you can borrow Buck's car before Tim has a chance, too. Damn, now that's revenge." He thought for a moment. "And I might as well lift a few hubcaps while I'm at it. Get enough money for that new exhaust."

Dallas smirked crookedly, and took out his cousin's blade. "Have at it."

Steve happily flicked out his own switch and got out of the car.

XXX

A good hour later, Steve's car was parked back at the stables, and every single Shepard boy's car had worthless tires. It was a hard task—people come in and out of Buck's every minute, either coming in to get drunk, or leaving after getting drunk. Drunk or not, though, it was important they stay stealth-like, or else Tim would be out there in a heartbeat, giving them each a couple of black eyes, and more. And Tim was the type of guy who could hold a grudge, at least until the next time the Curtis boys needed him on their side.

"Get out your hotwirin' gloves, Steve. Time for the grand finale," Dally said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. Steve clapped his hands together, grinning. He could get drunk just off of stuff like this. He was damn near giddy. Dallas was feeling pretty good, too, though he wouldn't show it so much. "Stop laughing like an idiot and let's get to it," he added.

They strolled casually over to Tim's Chevy and opened the door. Despite all the drunkard idiots known to stagger around Buck's, nobody bothered to lock their cars when partying around there. Too bad for Timothy and Company. "I got this," Steve said, sitting in the driver's seat. "Ain't never been caught hotwiring since I was fourteen years old, and that was my dad's car."

"Yeah, yeah, just get it done," Dallas said, getting in shotgun. "Man, I can't wait to see the look on Shepard's face. He ain't gonna believe this shit."

"Oh, I think he'll believe it," Steve replied, exposing the wires and searching for the right two. "You're Dallas Winston for chrissake. Me, on the other hand—he won't even suspect me for a second."

"He will as soon as sees half his guys are missing hubcaps."

Steve smiled as he found the two correct wires. He was damn proud of his reputation, same as Dallas was of his own. He connected the wires, twisting them together, and the car roared to life, music blaring.

"Shit!" Steve yelled, though it wasn't audible. "Why the hell didn't I think of the blasted radio?"

Dally reached quickly over and shut it off. "Damn it." They'd attracted the attention of a few guys walking outside. "Someone's gonna give Shepard word."

Steve laughed at the surprise and revved the engine to give Shepard word himself and sped off down the street, nearly hitting someone's rearview mirror on the way.

XXX

Dallas finally let out a chuckle. Top that one, Tim. He didn't even give a hell whether or not Shepard took Sylvia to bed; he'd always be able to remind him of this one. And there was Angela he could use against Tim, too. Sweet, sweet Angel ….

"Where we dumpin' this thing?" Steve asked, breaking Dally's fantasy.

"I guess you ain't willin' to take it down to the river?"

Steve snorted. "Not if you paid me. The point is to make Shepard walk for miles, not us."

"All right. Take it to Tiber Street, then, whether I pay you or not. It ain't far," Dallas replied, rolling down the window to let a breeze in.

Steve nodded, though annoyed, and turned toward Tiber Street.

XXX

"What're y'all doin' on our turf?" Nick Flicka, a semi-well known Tiber Street Tiger asked, as they parked Shepard's car outside a pet shop.

"Droppin' you off a little present, Flicka," Dallas said with a smirk. "You been wantin' to get back at Tim Shepard for a while now, right? Jumped one of your boys a few weeks back as I remember it."

Flicka nodded, pretending to remember. Kids from Tiber Street were nearly all idiots, worse than those Brumly boys. But sometimes their idiocy worked to one's advantage.

"Thanks, man," he said finally, a bewildered masked by pseudo-realization look on his face. "I appreciate it. I'm gonna have some fun with that thing. You, uh … Anything I can do to return the favor? I got my car parked down a few blocks."

Steve elbowed Dallas playfully, letting out a quick laugh. Dumber than dirt, Nick Flicka was. "That'd be great, Flicka," Steve said. "We need to get to the stables. Mind takin' us there?"

"No problem, amigo," he drawled, and led them to his car down the street.

XXX

"Thanks for the ride, man," Steve said once they were at Buck's stable. "Need anything, holler at us."

"Will do." Nick smiled stupidly. A damn goofy kid, he was. Always was, always would be. He took off down the gravel road, swerving like a chicken with its head cut off.

"Damn goofy, that kid is," Steve said as they watched him nearly hit a tree.

"Now let's get the fuck outta here. I'm tired as hell from all this blasted walkin' and shit," Dallas replied, and they headed to the back of the building where Steve's car was parked.

Nearing his car, Steve noticed the door was open and a figure was in the front seat. "Dallas, who the fuck is that? Who the fuck is that, Dallas?" Steve asked rhetorically, quickening his pace.

"Goddamn Shepard …" Dallas mumbled, hurrying with Steve.

Before they reached the car, though, Tim slammed the door harder than necessary and drove by, laughing at Dallas and Steve as he passed.

"Have fun walkin' home, pussies!" Curly yelled, sitting on the passenger door and waving.

Steve looked angrily at Dallas, who was scowling as well. "I'm gonna break your fuckin' nose, Winston."

Not exactly what I was going for, but maybe considering I had one day to write it is some form of excuse? At least a lame one? Hope you enjoyed it, at least. ConCrit is always appreciated!