The Hidden Boy of Alcatraz

7. Unwanted Truth

July 10th, 1963

Ponyboy had been the only one awake when the call came. It wasn't like he hadn't been expecting it. He'd been receiving word for weeks that something was going to happen in this direction. The bastard just wasn't able to leave things be.

One of his contacts had called to tell him that one of the old inmates of Alcatraz, now on death row in a Texas State prison, had admitted to more crimes. If Ponyboy hadn't known him, he would've believed the guy had nothing left to lose. His execution date was in five years time and Ponyboy could honestly say that he'd be glad to see the back of him.

The fact that he'd decided to come forward with more information about his past crimes wasn't surprising. Whether they'd be true or more of the bullshit he was known to spout every other day was another matter entirely. Ponyboy wasn't eager for this new information to push back the execution date. It was obvious that the man himself didn't feel the same way ...

... maybe that was why the bastard had said he'd only speak to him.

This guy was the kind who wanted to be remembered long after he died. He was also afraid of death. It made sense that he'd try to use this information to push back the execution date. Ponyboy wasn't eager to help with that, but he also needed that information. Something that the guy had said back in Alcatraz had been bugging him for a long time and that was why he'd looked into it. There was a lot more to this guy's background and past crimes than Ponyboy had initially believed.

He'd told his contacts to keep digging. He wanted to be prepared if the meeting actually took place. He wouldn't even think of going to a meeting with the guy with little to no information. The facts were what he needed and he was damn well going to get them.

Ponyboy decided that he would wait patiently for the agents to come to him. It was their call to make. He was in no rush, as the ball wasn't even in his court at this moment in time.

-x-x-x-x-x-

That evening, Ponyboy was sat at Bucks, surrounded by greasers and hoods. Soda was playing a game of snooker with Steve and Two-Bit, Dally and Tim were hitting on a pair of broads in the corner and Curly Shepard was drinking a beer, whilst sitting next to him. There had been offers of beers to Ponyboy, but he always declined. He didn't like the stuff and he doubted he ever would.

It was around nine when he saw the agents approaching Bucks. He nudged Curly and gestured outside. Curly, eyes widening, made a known hand signal towards Buck, who was standing behind the bar, and everything settled down rather quickly. Some drinks disappeared if they were near anyone underage and any other substances were gone within seconds.

When the agents walked in, it looked like a regular bar. They were two agents who Ponyboy was familiar with, as they had been in the San Francisco hospital after he'd been transported from Alcatraz Island. They were two people who Ponyboy knew weren't entirely honest with their jobs and work lives. They'd questioned him after his first night in the hospital and Ponyboy knew he'd gotten more from them, than they'd gotten from him.

Agents Simon Carter and Phillipe Sánchez spotted Ponyboy immediately. Only Sánchez walked over, though, and Ponyboy knew that the reason was because himself and Carter hadn't parted on good terms. Granted, it hadn't exactly been Carter's fault, but Ponyboy didn't particularly care.

"Ponyboy," Sánchez greeted him. "How are you?"

Ponyboy looked at him for a long moment, before leaning back. "What are you here for, Sánchez?"

Sánchez sighed, knowing there was no way to get anything passed this guy. "Adam Clark wants to talk to you."

Immediately, the greasers around the room began looking at each other, knowing who Adam Clark was and just how deadly he was considered. Soda's eyes were on his twin, but knew better than to get involved in the conversation. Ponyboy wouldn't be happy if he did, no matter how worried he was.

Ponyboy's eyes narrowed instantly. They'd come quicker than he'd originally thought they would. "Does he now? Did he give a reason, or was it more of his usual crap?"

"You don't get along, then," Sánchez muttered, wincing slightly. He wished he hadn't taken the job of informing Ponyboy of the situation now. He knew enough about the kid to know what happened to those who pissed him off. However, they were just rumours and no one was confirming anything.

Ponyboy snorted. "That's an understatment."

Ponyboy remembered when he'd read Clark's file. He'd never told anyone everything he'd read in there and the file hadn't been as informative as being in close proximity with the man. What crimes you committed didn't always tell you about who you were as a person. Ponyboy had his own classification, apart from dangerous killer.

Carter stepped forward. "Clark admitted to more murders, but he refuses to say anything to anyone, unless it's to you."

Ponyboy knew that Carter was dying to ask why Clark would only talk to him, but he also didn't want to sound accusing. Ponyboy was widely considered a victim and the press would tear him apart if they got word of anything having been said against the boy.

Ponyboy rolled his eyes. "He's still tryin' to get up top. It's all about the power plays for him. Clark always wanted to be the top dog and have everyone answerin' to him. He got a nasty wake-up call in Alcatraz, when he discovered that he was considered the lowest of the low. Rapists didn't do too well in prison."

Carter and Sánchez reacted immediately. Carter narrowed his eyes. "That's not widely released information."

It wasn't hard to understand why, considering that the girl had been widely popular.

Mutters came to Ponyboy's attention. Greasers around the room had reacted to one word only. You could find that kind of behaviour downtown - forcing girls into what they didn't want - but those people were among the minority. Buck was known to show a hell of a lot of backbone if he ever caught that kind of behaviour in his bar. Quite a lot of greasers had sisters, of whom they were rather protective. Ponyboy knew what happened to guys who got on their bad sides.

"He bragged," Ponyboy said, simply, turning back to the agents. "I have no doubt that I've heard more intimate details of his crimes than even a jury has. Made me sick, if I'm goin' to be honest with you. Guys like him don't have a good time of it in prison - especially if they don't know how they're considered by others behind bars. I'm afraid that he had to learn that the hard way."

Ponyboy remembered when Clark had arrived on Alcatraz Island. He, himself, had been six at the time. His seventh birthday a while later had, like always, passed with little celebration. Half the time he usually forgot it was his birthday, at all. Age had ceased to matter to him a very long time ago. Clark's first week on the Rock had been fairly quiet, but Clark had bragged everyday about what he'd done to the girl. He wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, which was how he'd gotten caught in the first place, having kept some of the girls missing property in his house. After Clark's eighth night there, he never bragged again ...

... Ponyboy carefully peered through the grate to the showers. Every con apart from one were fully aware that he was there, so he wasn't worried. He'd seen more of these men than he'd ever planned to and there was no use being embarrassed about it now.

Adam Clark was bragging again, having no clue what was about to happen to him. As one of the guys passed by the grate he was hiding behind, Ponyboy carefully and silently slide the knife out and into the cons waiting hand - hilt first. Ponyboy would only have a small role in this and he had no qualms about doing it. Not when it involved this particular man.

Leaning back, Ponyboy knew better than to leave. It would be his job to hide to blade afterwards and he would do it. No matter how much the grate concealed, though, he still saw the glint of metal and heard Clark's screams before he was quickly silenced, as no one wanted to alert the officers. This had to be done quickly and efficiently.

Red-stained water began flowing down the drain within Ponyboy's vision and, seconds later, he caught the blade as it was shoved back through the grate. It had been shoved in blade first, so he received a light cut on his palm, but he barely noticed it.

Quickly, ignoring the rats surrounding him, Ponyboy crawled away. The blade had to disappear ...

Ponyboy looked Carter in the eye, having made sure to leave out the more incriminating details. "He was in the infirmary for a week after the others had finished with him and there was even talk about sendin' him to the mainland. It never came to that ... and he certainly never bragged again."

Carter and Sánchez looked slightly sick, but didn't say anything. They knew what had been left out. Crimes that had been committed inside Alcatraz prison had all been carefully evaluated once again after Ponyboy being there became common knowledge. The conclusion the investigators had come to was that Ponyboy was involved in every last one of them after the year he'd arrived on the island, but charges would never be made against him. Not against a boy who hadn't been taught any better by the criminals surrounding him and had grown up in the kind of environment that, quite frankly, should've killed him.

Sánchez decided to get to the point. "Will you meet with him, Ponyboy?"

Ponyboy shrugged. "Sure. I sincerely doubt he'll have anythin' to say that'll be worthwhile, but I don't fancy holdin' back the execution date while you try to figure it out."

It was a careful jab against law enforcement, but Carter and Sánchez held their tongues. This kid had more than enough reasons to hate any kind of law enforcement and, if they were guessing right, more than even they knew about.

Carter just nodded. "We'll sort everything out and get back to you."

"Be sure that you do," Ponyboy told them. "I don't want to have to waste more time on him than is strictly necessary."

They turned to leave. It was when they were almost at the door that Sánchez turned back around, having remembered another topic that he'd wanted to ask Ponyboy about.

"Blackwell was taken ill," he said, looking directly at Ponyboy, who showed no reaction to the news. "The other day, he signed himself into the hospital and had his stomach pumped, saying he believed he'd eaten something off. They found half-digested rat meat in his stomach. He refuses to say how it could've gotten there and where he could've eaten it."

Ponyboy didn't even flinch. "Did you know that rat meat can be a delicacy in some countries?"

Sánchez looked at Ponyboy for a long moment, before nodding. "Yes, I did. However, it's not here."

Ponyboy just shrugged, not looking at all concerned. "Perhaps he didn't know what he was eatin'."

It wasn't a lie and the agents knew it. The best way to lie was to tell the truth, but they wouldn't say anything. They'd read the reports and throughly believed the news. They wouldn't take Blackwell's side in this. They knew about the suicide that had taken place on Alcatraz and they held nothing but contempt for jokes that transgressed into bullying which had, in turn, forced that man to resort to the extreme measure he'd taken. Ponyboy obviously felt the same way they did.

Carter gave a sharp nod. "Maybe you're right. We'll be in contact."

Ponyboy watched them leave, with a cruel light in his eyes. Blackwell had far worse than rat meat coming to him.

-x-x-x-x-x-

July 11th, 1963

Sitting up in bed, Ponyboy was going through Soda's course books for school. His parents had brought up the idea of home school to him come September and he'd promised to think about it, which was where his twin's school books came in. Ponyboy had always been fascinated with history, but now he had potentially unlimited access to the stories of the past. He would use this opportunity to his advantage.

"Ponyboy?"

Looking up, Ponyboy saw Sodapop standing in the doorway to their shared bedroom. Their parents were at work and they had the house to themselves.

"What is it?" Ponyboy asked, closing the book.

Soda was quiet was a long moment, remembering the meal that Ponyboy had personally made Blackwell when he'd come to the diner. "Did you do it? Did you feed Blackwell rat meat?"

Ponyboy didn't even deny it. "Yes."

Soda just nodded. "Okay."

He didn't question his brother. Soda had known that Ponyboy had been lying when he'd told their mother that the news wasn't true and that West wasn't being truthful. Call it twin or brotherly intuition, but Soda had just known. That nagging feeling in his gut hadn't left him alone since, though he had tried to deny it.

Ponyboy went back to the book and Sodapop turned around, walking away and into the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, Soda removed his clothes and stepped into the shower, before turning up the heat as high as his body could take it.

As the water ran down his body in rivers, Soda finally let the tears he'd been holding back fall. He didn't even bother trying to contain his sobs, vaguely hoping that the shower would drown out any noise he was currently making.

Those bastards had been told Ponyboy was there. They'd been told.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Ponyboy's grip on the book he was reading became tighter when the faint sounds coming from the bathroom reached his ears. Putting the book down and reaching into his pocket, Ponyboy took out a piece of paper with a number on it.

It was time he looked into a more personal matter. It was time he checked in on the man who had torn away his chances of a normal life; who had tossed him into the Alcatraz vents without so much as a backward glance and left him there to rot when he was just ten.

It was time that man learned just how powerful that kidnapped little boy had become. It was time everyone learned that.

Author's Note:- I'm sorry for the wait, but I had problems with this chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Please review and let me know what you think.

Enjoy!