Smooth Jazz Ch. 01

Word had got around one day about it at school, when he was in the sixth grade. One of his classmates heard the teachers talking about it. He was a mean and rather large redhead kid, that they called Ginger. The freckles on his face were kisses from angels, he use to tell them. More like the devil, Connor always thought. The kid definitely had a mean streak.

Back then Connor didn't know that Ginger's daddy was beating him senseless and his momma as well. Had he known, he could have been sympathetic as Ginger started calling him a murderer in front of everyone.

His classmates just looked and stared, some giggling and joining in the little chant. He remembered his face, his eyes dripping tears. He remembered the coloring and the heat that rose on his white cheeks. He went blind with anger as he lunged himself at Ginger and tackled the heavy weight to the ground.

Connor had always been skinny as boy. He had yet to grow into a man and develop the broad shoulders and hard pectorals that he had now. Still adrenaline and fury gave him speed and agility. He tackled Ginger to the ground as they fumbled on the grass at recess which took place as a break after lunch.

Connor punched with inexperience and wild strikes. He didn't know what part of Ginger he was hitting. He just kept punching. Ignoring the pain as Ginger grabbed his dark hair that went a little past his ears at the time.

He was numb and he fueled himself on the hurt and the guilt. He believed the entire chant. The mocking tones mimicked his every thought, from the day that he knew how it happened, he lived in shame.

He was born in grief and in death. He bumbled away at Ginger. Until teachers ran out, it took three of them. By the time they got him off, Ginger had received a busted lip and nose. His eye was swollen and starting to grow black and tears ran down his face.

Connor didn't have a scratch on him, the same could not be said for his white polo which was ripped but he was okay. He was dragged to the principle office, without a word. Although when his dad came the look on his face was one to fear.

He was angry, because he had to leave work because this required him instead of their neighbor Cindy who usually picked him up from school. His principle explained how he came out and saw him attacking Ginger.

Even Connor winced as he recounted how Connor had punched him and kicked him repeatedly. There was still no mention of why or how it got to that point. There was no point, which he could see to explain himself so he didn't. He kept it to himself and spent his time finding a way out.

Apparently the army was that way out Connor thought to himself as he neared the bar. The sign only having a light that shun from the "A" and the "R" of the full wording "Bar" left little to the imagination, of what the place might be.

He would take the back way since his friend from high school had got in touch with him and said he worked here and practically owned the place. The owner was slowly passing through his eighty year old birthday.

Therefore he could stand behind the bar with him, even though he imagined he would take up a lot of space, it was the price to pay for free drinks and some time to catch up and worth it. He walked into the alley and stopped as he heard a muffled cry.

His eyes zeroed in on a short but stocky man pushing a woman against the concrete wall his hands around her neck pushing against her and one over her mouth. Connor moved silent and quick. His big frame didn't stop him from moving gracefully and easy.

The army had made him deadly and on alert at all times. It took him only a minute to disengage the man from the woman and chop his neck and put him into a sleep hold so he would pass out as he slide to the concrete ground.

The man never even registered who and what had went wrong as he was nearing his goal of being inside the pretty caramel brown skin woman. His dark eyes went blank and he passed out. Connor was by the woman side in a flash.

"Don't touch me!" She kicked out from the ground and nearly knocked him over as he was on uneven footing. He caught a glimpse of her full and lush mouth and zeroed in on her pretty hazel eyes. The kind of eyes that made a man wonder what depth lied within him.

Her voice rang with a southern twang the native life couldn't seem to completely get rid of. It sounded like honey and sweet molasses dipped in sugar. It was tantalizing, pulling him closer to her. The way she shook, made him want to take her into his strong arms until she was calm.

As he reached for her she splashed muddy water in his face.

"Shit!" He wiped at his eyes and with that she raced out of the alley, her feet flying and she was gone in a flash. He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He should have asked if she was okay.

He rubbed his wet hands on his jean in frustration. Maybe it was the damsel in distress look in her eyes. Or was it those quivering full lips? He looked to the guy on the ground. He thoroughly searched him, for any weapons in case he woke back up and tried anything.

He made a quick call to the police and waited by the man until the cops would come. Still as he stared off into the distance he couldn't help but wonder-who the hell she was? And how was he going to explain knocking this guy out when his victim was gone in the wind. Although he would be lying if he said that was the only reason he wanted to see her again.