Like Slow Sweet Molasses (15 page)

He
didn’t linger overly long at his aunt’s promising to equip her with security
surveillance similar to Angela’s. The deserted Sunday streets were his speedway
as his booted foot clutched to the floor and he jammed the shift to the next
gear, his mouth reminiscent of an upside down quarter moon. Squealing tires
slid along the curb crunching his arrival in front of Darrell’s club. Chance’s
priorities were clear placing him in the dimly lit maze of the restaurant and
at Darrell’s office in no time flat. Unexpectedly, the door flew open.

“Big
Brock.” The sly grin mocked Chance. “What a surprise.”

Chance’s
bent arm caught Darrell under his chin pretty close to crushing his esophagus.
The force propelled Darrell backwards all the way across the room, slammed him
to his desk top and pinned him there. “Stay away from Angela. Your beef is with
me.” Chance
if’d
with the elbow to the neck. “Handle your business like
a man.”

Chance
startled inwardly never letting on to his nemesis.

“Is
this man enough for you, Big Brock?” Darrell bragged, the barrel of his gun
pressing into Chance’s abdomen.

Past
caring, Chance razzed, “Do what you gotta do, D.” He issued a warning,
nonetheless. “Angela is not a pawn. If I find evidence that you entered her
home there’ll be no place you can hide from me. I’ll take pleasure in arresting
you myself.” He pushed off. “Is that man enough for you?”

Darrell
sneered. “Careful, Brock.
 
NOPD is
shorthanded and can’t afford to lose another public servant.”

“Your
business might be legal. What about that gun?” Darrell heaved a malicious
glare. “Didn’t think so. A minor oversight capable of returning you to
BarsRUs—ASAP.”

Chance
sauntered from the office feeling the target Darrell carved on his back. He
levied his next malice-laced warning without turning. “Our former friendship
aside, the next time you feel brave enough to pull that gun on me…you’d better
be prepared to use it, Darrell.”

Two
steps out the door and a man sprang from the semi-darkness of the interior to
accost Chance, crushing him like a boa constrictor and levitating him off the
ground. Chance unleashed a series of head butts that didn’t put a ding in the
man’s cast-iron exterior, but, left him to wonder which would render him
unconscious first—head trauma or the lack of oxygen. One more attempt struck
the fellow on the upswing drawing a howl at the bone crushing thud. The warm
wetness flowed. Free at last, Chance attacked with a powerful down thrust to
the temple sending his opponent tumbling, rearranging the tables and chairs on
his way to the floor.

Rain
pounded Angela’s bedroom window, whipped and blown by the wind’s furious
velocity. One of New Orleans’ quirky thunderstorms. The chimes rang in discord
but that hadn’t awakened her from a restless slumber. The roll of thunder claps
vibrating the atmosphere sat her up faster than the flashes of lightning,
tripped her heart over its own beats and left it floundering in her chest
cavity. A hand flew to her breast and a prayer erupted from her lips as she
struggled to swallow the lump of fear in her throat.

About
that time, she heard the welcoming rumble of Chance’s Mustang idling in Mrs.
Thatcher’s yard. Angela crawled from bed for a peek hoping to calm her frayed
nerves. His silhouette rounding the car paused to take in his surroundings and
hers—all before the back light came on and he marched up the steps. A
comforting sight indeed. One that hinted at sweet dreams when she returned to
her empty four-poster bed.

Chapter Ten

A
creepy-crawly sensation undermined the administrative work Angela attempted to
complete, the results of speaking with Principal Dauchex in hopes of gaining
her support for the afterschool music lessons. There were proposals to write
for submission to the board for their approval before a note sounded in the
first session. The jittery feeling refused to disintegrate, curbing her
enthusiasm for finishing the task. Her benevolent beliefs fortified her to
drudge on despite the uneasiness seeping into her consciousness.

Angela
pushed away from her desk to check the hallway for any signs of life, detecting
none. Her heart’s thumpity-thump sounded loud enough in her ears to be the base
line for one of her musical arrangements. Another look around and she quietly
closed the door to her classroom determined to have the papers ready for
tomorrow’s teachers meeting. Head bent over the forms, pen gliding effortlessly
from section to section, Angela froze listening to noises right outside of her
door. Nervously, she plied through her purse for Chance’s card and her cell
phone. She was on her way to pressing the call button after her finger tapped
the numbers in when her door opened.

“Sorry,
ma’am. I thought everyone was gone.” The janitor spoke to her with a look of
interest in his dark brown eyes. His apology eliminated all reasons she should
proceed with the call to Chance. “I’ll come back.”

“I
won’t be much longer.” She watched him retreat, pushing his rolling yellow
bucket with the mop protruding over the rim. That scare was all she needed to
ignite her burners for a fast getaway. The dusky sky reprimanded her
inattentiveness to the time of year for although not yet five-thirty it was
relatively dark.

“Shoot!”

Quickly,
Angela scooped up her belongings to dash from the building with only one major
thought, to get to the bus stop in time. That would quell the little voice
screaming in her head. Her feet hustled along the pavement as she juggled her
load to the bench. Muggy air trapped in the covered area by thick plastic
sheeting framing the bench greeted her. Angela dusted at the seat removing
invisible particles to align her cases beside her. Like Anxious Agnes, she
fidgeted while curtailing another look at her watch. Passing cars failed to
attract her attention for she watched specifically for the lumbering public
transportation.

“Need
a ride?”

She
whipped in the direction of the male voice. Ice formed around her heart. “No,
thanks.” She looked away.

“Come
on, Ms. Munso. I don’t bite.”

Angela
couldn’t believe her luck. It was Darrell Williams, of all people. “No,
thanks.” To her dismay, he exited the car, wandered over and dropped to the
bench. Angela swiped up her cell phone.

“Don’t
call him, Ms. Munso. He’s not as righteous as you think.”

“Mr.
Williams, I’m not Sheryl. I have no desire for your attention.” Angela held the
phone, indecisive because that meant recanting her boast to Chance.

Darrell
Williams’ condescending smile sent chills skittering up her spine. In a flash,
she found her predicament changed for the worse. He took her instrument hostage
and headed back to his car. “You can’t do that,” she leaped up, yelling at his
back.

“I
just did. Coming?”

The
bus was about two blocks away rattling on its route as if gliding on a single
rail. All she had to do to save herself was get on the bus and report his
harassment to the police. Stupidly, she delayed too long. He closed the door
after getting into the driver’s seat obscuring her view into the interior. The
engine started. The door on her side flung open.

“Get
in,” he commanded. “Do you care at all for your Lt. Brock Alexander?”

“Chance
can take care of himself.”

“Not
when it comes to you, Angela. He’s getting sloppy.”

“My
bus is here. Give me my instrument,” she demanded, sticking a hand in for the
case.

“Can’t
do that, Angela.” His yank nearly dislocated her sore shoulder. The jerk was
hard enough to launch her head first into the car and ripped her jacket at the
upper sleeve. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His chilling tone insisted
otherwise. “I just want to talk.”

She
fought him tooth and nail with all the strength she possessed. Who would trust
someone who bodily manhandled them? Not her.

“I
want to tell you about your precious lieutenant. Ask him about the attempted
assault.” He felt the blood where her nails tore the skin from his face.

Those
words drained all of the fight out of Angela while miraculously winning her
release. She staggered from the car followed by the instrument bouncing to the
ground next to her and out of its protective case.

“See.
I told you you don’t know him. Not like I do.” A satisfied smirk substituted
for a smile while is fingers mashed into his cheek to stop the bleeding.

She
heard his guttural laughter above all other sounds invading her space. Angela
blindly enfolded all of her pieces in her arms to hide her disheveled
appearance as the bus stopped to take her on board. What felt like an eternity
to her actually only lasted a few minutes. By the time she sat down, the street
lights flickered on giving prudence to what should have occurred to her prior
to this incidence. She placed herself in double jeopardy with the encounters
between herself and Chance and now Darrell Williams.

Attempted
assault?

The
bell rang a half ding. The heels of her shoes clipped the stone pavement in cadence
to her labored breathing as she swiftly walked towards home. Life pelted her
world spinning it like a top on a needled tee. She had to get home and fast. Or
for the life of her, she would scream bloody murder through the streets
arousing the entire neighborhood. Angela didn’t know it, but, her pace
increased to a run. A power boost shot her down the lamp-lit streets, up the
steps to her yard, onto the porch oblivious to the world around her.

Adrenaline
made her drop all the items just inside the living room door to disarm the
alarm. She collapsed on the sofa battling to keep her sanity intact, rocking
back and forth in agitation. Her hands muffled the soft sobs wracking her body.
Angela suffered with the knowledge she was her own worst enemy buying into the
attentiveness of a stranger. That’s what Chance was, a stranger devoting time
to her. Nothing more or nothing less.

“Angela!”
Chance pounded her door when the bell went unanswered. “I know you’re there. I
saw you streak by.” The cut glass insert on the door gave her figure a
disjointed appearance. “Open up, Angela.”

The
way he attacked the door indicated to her a simple
leave me alone
wouldn’t do. Angela advanced on the door ready to do battle by the way it flung
open. She hadn’t bothered to unlock the outer door and they stood separated by
that partition. “I don’t want to see you at or near my home ever again, Lt.
Alexander.”

“Where
the hell did that come from?” he questioned, curiosity turning to concern at
her disheveled look. If her mussed hair and tear streaked face weren’t enough
to sound an alarm, her blood spotted and torn garment was. Then he spied her
beloved instrument battered from misuse—the gold placard dangling from one
tack. Chance yanked and the locked storm door popped open.

“My
God, you’re hurt!” he exclaimed while bursting across the threshold, reaching
to console her.

“Don’t
come any closer.”

His
heart sank when she shrank from him like she was afraid he might molest her or
something. “What happened to you?”

“You’re
not welcome here anymore, Chance. Let’s leave it at that.”

Fresh
tears coursed down her flushed cheeks. Her distress was so obvious to him
markedly seen in the quaking tremors sporadically passing through her body.

“Who
mauled you, Angela? And why are you so scared…of me?”

“Tell
me quickly, Chance, about your past.”

“What?”

She
refused to let him pass the doorway knowing full well he could advance as far
as he wanted—if he wanted. Shaky fingers, the nails broken and stained red,
wiped at the tracks on her cheeks. “You were a troubled kid. I got that much
from what you told me about your connection with the Robinsons. Tell me about
the rest.”

Chance
mellowed. “What do you think you know?”

“I
want to hear it from you,” she challenged.

“Hear
what? That I was a truant as a youngster?”

“Is
that what you call it? Being a truant.” She had all she was willing to take.
“Be the gentleman I thought you were and leave. Now!”