Blood oozed from the opening. Her jet-black hair was messy, and she appeared to have been crying.
I would be crying, too, if I had just jumped from the second floor.
I failed to dredge up her name from my memory bank. "Hey, Cambridge
girl!" I shouted, joyful that I remembered her at all. And then I demanded to know, "What the hell is going on?"
The girl's eyes met mine for the first time, and her initial reaction was to
shrink away from me, but then they widened with what I could only describe as hope. "I know you!" She shouted at me. "Please! Help me, please!"
But before I could respond, she threw herself into my arms, nearly knocking
me over. I tried to look at her face, but she held me tight.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "Are you hurt?"
She released me and grabbed my arm. "Please, just get me out of here!"
"What's going on?"
"Just get me out of here!"
"I don't have a car. I'm on foot--"
"I don't care! Just help me leave!"
I had just watched her jump from an upstairs window, and unless she was on a bad trip, she needed some serious help. But who was she running from? I wasn't very good at this sort of thing, but then again, who is?
"Okay, then." I grabbed her hand as we ran back around to the front of the
house. The party was still raging. For the most part, her scream had gone
unnoticed, although a few guys were watching me. Maybe they noticed her
blood.
And just as we hit the front sidewalk, a plump redheaded guy, with flaming
hair like a copper penny, vivid in that Carrot Top Thompson way, burst through the front door and down the porch, chasing us.
"Dera!" he screamed. "Where you going, baby?"
"I'm getting the hell out of here, Ron-or Ronnie-whatever the hell your
name is. You and your friends can kiss my ass."
I was still holding her hand. A crowd was gathering.
What the hell had I got myself into?
"Well, that's what we were trying to do until you decided to be a tease," the redheaded goon said. This guy was a piece of work. He had more freckles than any twenty-year-old man I had ever seen. He was heavy-set and could have used
more time in the gym and less time drinking dark, imported brewskies at a frat party. The empty brown bottles littered the lawn. Damn, expensive stuff, too, that Carlsberg Elephant beer.
Ron smirked and started to walk toward us. Ron was about my height, but he outweighed me by seventy pounds. He looked like an oversized Raggedy Andy doll. Or, maybe a guy who ate an oversized Raggedy Andy doll.
"Don't come near us!" Dera grabbed my arm.
"Who is this guy?" Ron said and ignored Dera to point at me with his chin.
Uh-oh. He walked right up to my face. I tried to size up the reach of his
arms and legs, compared to mine, so I would know whose punch and kick would reach first. It wasn't always all about technique or the size of the man, but the length of his limbs that also mattered.
I said, "I'm going to take her home." I was unusually calm and in control.
Deep breaths. I could feel myself flustering. I didn't like guys coming up to my face and pointing at me with their chins. Big mistake on his part to assume that my surfer looks meant that I was a nice guy. I wasn't.
"Who the hell are you?" Ron asked. He stepped closer to me. I could smell
alcohol on his breath.
"Just go back inside," I said to Ron. "Go back to your party. Chill." I took a
step back to appear less confrontational.
"And what if I don't want to go back to my party? What if I am not in a chill
mood?" Ron took another step toward me. A bigger step. An extraordinarily
stupid step.
I looked at this guy. I would get kicked out of Mixed Martial Arts for even
entertaining the thought to fight a guy who was this out of shape. And this drunk. I resolved not to throw the first punch or kick. It was the only way to protect my job, which I was more worried about protecting than my physical ass.
The guy let loose a burp, a very stinky roaring mega-belch that was permeated with imported beer fumes. Sheesh! The hops didn't smell so good
when they were already getting processed in a human being.
One problem: It was hard not to entertain punching a Bunkface like this into a pulp when you love to fight. And then taunted you by belching in your face and taking a fight stance, as piss-poor as it was. To a professional like me, he was already toasted. But, I again resolved not to throw the first blow. In a street fight,
you never do that. Only in the ring. And then, only sometimes.
I felt my heart rate increase. Blood throbbed in my temples as my inner beast unfurled its fangs in wait. My left hand, my free hand, opened and closed. It itched to make a fist. It itched to connect with this douchebag's speckled face.
"I asked you a question, Blondie." And then he growled, "What if I don't
want to go back to my party?"
"Look, Spanky," I said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sure there's a whole
plethora of girls inside just begging for you to slip them a roofie. Why don't you just let us get out of here and then you can go back to raping and pillaging."
"Raping and pillaging? Oh, you're funny, back street boy. You're not going anywhere. I took Dera to this party. If anyone's taking her home, it's going to be me."
"I don't see that happening," I said. The throbbing in my temple increased.
Adrenaline was flooding my bloodstream. "You seemed to have lost that privilege the second you and your frat buddies decided to commit a federal crime."
"The last time I checked, it wasn't a crime when a girl was asking for it."
"So, that's why her hair is messed up and she has a ripped dress." I didn't
know if she had ripped her dress on the fall from the upstairs window, or if he had done it, but Ron answered my concerns soon enough.
"What can I say? I guess the bitch likes it rough."
"You're a fucking pig, Ron!" Dera yelled out.
"Look, whore, you know you wanted it, and you got scared once you saw
how fat my cock was."
My stomach turned. I stepped toward Ron. "Get the fuck out of here, you fat
piece of shit."
"And what if I don't?" As he spoke, spittle flew from his mouth and hit my cheeks. I hate that. When someone spits on me, I usually lose my resolve not to beat the shit out of him.
I said, "Then this night will not end well for you."
"Are you threatening me?" Ron bellowed.