Normally I don't like reading stories that are more than a few pages. This one ended up being longer than I expected, so for the people like me I apologize if it is too long. I do hope you will read it and enjoy it. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback.
The shaggy looking young man leaned against the side of the doorway leading into the rundown looking apartment building, carefully eyeing each person heading in his direction. Arthur Bowen, his friends called him Mutt because of his unruly brown hair, fidgeted from one foot to the other one as he surveyed his surroundings. It was six-thirty in the afternoon and he needed to score some cash. He figured the people living in this dump would be easy pickings. The monkey on his back made him antsy while the switchblade knife in his palm made him feel powerful. Most of the people in the area were elderly, but there were a few that looked as if they could have some money. Not a fortune, he surmised, but surely enough to fix him right up for the rest of the day. His eyes focused on the man coming his way.
The approaching man spotted Arthur way before he reached the stoop to his building. Another piece of trash he thought to himself. It seemed to him that there was an abundant supply of scum in the city. His sharp gray eyes watched the shaggy guy intently as he drew closer to the stoop.
That's right old man; just a little closer Arthur chuckled under his breath. His streetwise eyes took all of the man in. The closer the man got, the more Arthur realized that he wasn't as old as he'd first thought. The man was wearing work boots and faded jeans with a black t-shirt almost covered by the threadbare trench coat hanging off his slumping shoulders. He also walked with a slight limp. The man's salt and pepper hair was short under the black ball cap that sat upon his head. With the baggy long coat on it was hard to tell if the man was in good or bad shape. He guessed the man to be about six-foot tall; just a shade under his own six-foot two-inch frame. Yep, easy pickings Arthur told himself as he stood up and approached the man as he reached the stoop.
"Spare a smoke," Arthur asked as he blocked the man's path.
The man stopped and gazed at Arthur's face before saying, "Don't smoke."
"Then how about just giving me your wallet and I'll go buy some," Arthur barked, as he brandished the knife in plain sight.
"How about you lick the shit out of my ass instead," the man said calmly.
"What the fuck! Give me your fucking money motherfucker," Arthur yelled as he stepped closer to the man.
The man had an evil looking smile on his face as he said, "Not today dickhead."
There was something in the man's eyes that sent a chill of fear down Arthur's spine, but the monkey on his back wouldn't be denied. He lunged forward with the knife pointed at the man's mid-riff. He heard the clatter of the knife hitting the concrete before he felt the pain shooting up his arm. He had just enough time to look at his shattered wrist before the toe of the man's work boot crushed his balls. Screaming and retching at the same time he doubled over and fell to the ground. Going in and out of consciousness he felt someone shaking his shoulder. Bleary-eyed he managed to look up at the man squatting next to him.
"Hey butt wad, can you hear me?"
"Huh?" Arthur wasn't sure where the question was coming from until the man shook him again.
"Can you hear me," the man calmly asked once more.
"Yeah, I hear you man," Arthur stammered between the pain.
"Good, because I'm only going to say this once. Stay the fuck out of this neighborhood."
"Whatever you say mister," Arthur sputtered, groaning as the man helped him to his feet.
"Just so we're clear. If I see you around here again I won't be as gentle as I was this time."
Tom Drake watched the shaggy guy painfully shuffle off down the sidewalk until he reached the end of the block and disappeared around the corner. Unknown to Tom, Miranda Waters had watched the whole scene play out from her second floor window. A shiver ran down her spine and she became aware of the dampness in her panties as she watched her neighbor turn and enter the building.
"For Christ sake Miranda, get a grip girl. He's old enough to be your father," she rebuked herself.
Unfortunately, older guys were Miranda's weakness. Growing up not knowing who, or where her father was, had caused her to seek out the company of mature men. Now at twenty-three years old and being a registered nurse, she was sure she had daddy issues. All her friends kidded her when they went out clubbing and Miranda flirted with the older men. Her friends called her the geezer getter. To them anyone over thirty was well passed their prime and were to be avoided at all cost. She had a different take on older guys. She found them more sensitive and caring, and a hell-of-a-lot more appreciative of her than guys her own age. She owed her nursing career to the generosity of an older man. He had put her through school, fed and clothed her and paid her rent. All she had had to do was let him push his tiny penis into her a couple times a month. It had been a sad day when he had passed away a little over a year and a half ago.
Tom Drake entered the run-down looking building through the heavy glass door after using his key to unlock it. On the outside the building was as shabby as the rest of the block. The entire block's ground floor was comprised of small shops, a mom and pop grocery store, a couple of stores selling cheap knock-offs and at the end of the block a neighborhood bar. On the second and third floors the owners had transferred the space into nice one and two bedroom walk-up apartments. There were four apartments per floor. Unfortunately for Tom, his was on the third floor. By the time he reached the second floor his bad knee was giving him fits. He stopped just at the top of the stairs and bent over to rubbed the stiffness. The sound of a door opening made him look to his left.
"Are you alright Tom," Miranda asked, concern written on her face.
Tom stood up and studied the girl. She was wearing a pale blue floor length robe with one hand clutching the upper half closed. He guessed her height to be somewhere around five-eight, and she couldn't have weighed more than one-thirty. She had piercing blue eyes and thick, waist length, straight ebony hair. As with most people in the city she had a pale complexion, but when she smiled her whole face lit up. Her full lips spread in a smile as she watched him study her. Her smile was infectious and he couldn't help but smile back.
"Yeah, I'm fine Miranda. Knees acting up is all," he muttered while drinking in her beauty.
"That's what happens when you kick someone in the balls," she snickered.
"Oh, you saw that huh?"
"Yeah."
"Sorry about that," Tom apologized.
"Wait here a minute," Miranda said before retreating back into her apartment. She returned holding a tube of some sort of ointment in her hand, along with her keys.
After locking her door she handed Tom the tube and took his elbow in her hand saying, "Let's get you upstairs and I'll put this on your knee."
When he tried to protest she told him to shush and guided him toward the stairs. He could walk on his own, easily, but the feel of her closeness and the sweet aroma floating off of her made him give in to her demands. As they climbed the stairs Tom thought back to the encounters he'd had with her. They had talked several times in the six weeks that he had been living here. Mostly when each went down to check their mail, or when they passed in the stairwell. They had even drank a few beers together at the local bar. It seemed to Tom that she must have seen him going into the bar on those occasions, because each time he had just gotten seated when she showed up. He wasn't much of a talker, but he had enjoyed her company.
They reached his door and she helped him inside where he took off the cap and trench coat and placed them on the coffee table. Her first impression of the place was that it lacked any personal touches. There were no photographs of loved ones anywhere, and the only things hanging on the walls were framed certificates. There was one large framed panel that appeared to hold a rather big collection of military ribbons. On closer inspection she noticed that all the framed certificates were from the military also. She realized that she had told him her life's story in the bar those couple times, but he hadn't really told her anything about his.
"You were in the service I take it," she stated the obvious.
"Yeah," he replied as he plopped down on an overstuffed brown sofa near the front window.
"So, how long were you in? Judging by the dates on these certificates, I'd say a long time," Miranda commented while gazing at them.
"When I look back on it, it seems like forever."
Turning to face him she said, "And how long is forever?"
"Twenty-seven years," he replied returning her gaze.
"You can't be old enough to have served that long, can you?"
