*All characters are 18+
Subsequent chapters may take a little longer as I will be working on Poor Simon*
Darryl Smith did not have an exulted life. He was not living the American dream. He was a janitor at a high school with a social society like Lord of the Flies. The teachers were snooty, the sports stars got their asses kissed by everyone, and everyone treated him like some sort of trained monkey in a blue coverall.
Darryl, however, was content. He had been in the Korean War near the very beginning in the early fifties. He had stayed in the trenches for two months, long enough to write four letters home, and lost his foot when some bonehead dropped a grenade. He had been one of the lucky ones, two others died and one had lost both legs from the crotch down. He was 56 and living well. He rented the apartment in the basement of the school for peanuts, and got free veterans welfare.
It was four in the afternoon, about an hour after all the kids who didn't have sports or clubs went home. Kids who were in clubs and basketball were trickling out in singles and small groups, and Darryl was mopping muddy footprints from one of the side entrances. The snow was melting, so the dull green tiles were filthy with snowmelt mud.
He was going to the janitors closet when he heard the sound. The janitors closet was in a narrow concrete hallway that Darryl had to nudge couples from at least twice an hour during the day. He was just outside the hallway, about to go in and dump the old gray water into the sink when he heard the noise.
It was the muffled frightened sobs of a young man. It was a low hurt scared sound. Then there was ugly laughter.
Darryl was a big man, but big didn't mean soft. He weighed 250 and his body was rock-hard. No longer chiseled as it had been when he was younger, but mostly slab-like muscle. He was just over six feet tall.
He was big, but not too big as to give himself away when he went silently into the narrow hallway. He slid into the entryway to the closet without any of the four boys noticing. Two boys were holding a third back, and the fourth was cowering under the big porcelain sink. It was a frail-looking kid with huge horn-rimmed glasses dangling from one ear and a bloody nose.
All three of the other boys were wearing letter jackets. The one in the middle was big on the wrestling team and Darryl recognized the other two from the football team.
"C'mon Henry!" The boy with pimples and barn-beam shoulders panted. "If yah hurt the little fucker too bad we're gonna get in deep shit!"
"Yeah Henry!" The other boy Darryl recognized from the auto shop class that he substituted for when the teacher was too drunk. Victor Duke, a mean weasely fucker who liked to fuck off in class and give an unconvincing innocent expression whenever anyone told him to get to work.
The boy in the middle was taller then the broad boy and more muscular then Victor. His face was twisted, not into a bullying sneer, but a rictus of pure rage.
"Little ass-fairy deserved it." He snarled. The boy under the sink moaned. "I ain't gonna lay off the little queer until he learns his fucking lesson!"
Henry lashed out a foot and got the boy under the sink in the stomach. The boy screamed breathlessly and his feet scrabbled uselessly on the green tiles, trying to hide further in the narrow space under the sink.
Darryl came forward silently, his face calm but his wide blue eyes furious. His hands moulded into huge fists with silvery scarred knuckles. They didn't see him until he grabbed the red-and-gold collar of Henry's leather letter jacket. His other fist went up, hitting three short powerful blows right to the stomach and short ribs.
Henry bent at the waist and threw up, but Darryl was already moving. He hooked his leg behind the short powerful boy's knees, throwing him off balance before sending a right hook to the throat.
Victor had barely managed to give a weak punch to Darryl's back when he turned and backhanded the pale greasy asshole in the face.
The three would-be tormenters of the boy cowering under the sink fled, reeling and barely understanding what had happened to them.
Darryl turned, and saw the boy crawling from under the sink. He had long coltish legs and slim hips dressed in faded bluejeans. He was holding his twisted glasses in his hands and his face was bloody and streaked with tears. His hair was so dark brown it was nearly black, and a little too long. Darryl felt his hard lined face soften, and he reached out a big callused hand.
"Come here son, lets get you cleaned up."
---
The boy's name was Jared Davis. Darryl was looking at the twisted glasses through his readers with a needlenose pliers and a tiny screwdriver while Jared called and fed a lie to his mother. Darryl liked the sound of the boy's voice, it was warm and soft and husky.
"Yes mom... yes... I just ran into a pole, I'm sorry I wasn't looking...Mr. Smith says he can fix them... I'll be home by seven, I might go to the comics store... yes mom...I'm sorry mom... thanks, bye mom."
He put down the heavy black melted-barbell shape of the receiver and blushed a little as Darryl looked at him.
"Thank you Mr. Smith." He whispered. He sat down on Darryl's military-neat bed and nursed the white mug of coffee the older man had given him. A large shiner was developing on his left eye, but he had wiped at the blood with wet tissue paper and he looked presentable.
Darryl tweaked the arm of the horn-rims with the pliers. "Don't call me Mr. Smith and I wont call you Mr. Davis... My name's Darryl."
Jared took a deep breath and a sip of the black coffee. The coffee was hot and strong and soothing. "I just want to thank you Darryl."
"Hmf. These are for you, a little crooked, but close enough for Government work."
Jared took the glasses and put them back on. Darryl smiled a little; the glasses made Jared look pretty damn cute.
