Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde Read Online Free PDF Page A

politics, and sports. She was far more than a pretty face, and I found her very refreshing from the Barbie dolls I’d know in California; despite her physically resembling the prototypical Golden State girl in every way.
    Like most women, she couldn’t understand how a man my age could still enjoy reading comic books. It never affected our relationship though, and she just kind of smiled and laughed at me about it. While she studied her biology books, I usually followed Batman’s latest duel with the Joker. It was odd, but it worked.
    Sex with her was a religious experience. Yeah, I know it sounded cliché, but there is no better way to describe it. Most women twice her age didn’t possess the skills in bed that she did. It was like she had been given an owner’s manual for my body and committed it to memory.
    On the downside, I didn’t get to spend as much time with her as I would have liked. Between work, school, and her family, I was lucky to see her twice a week. I didn’t push for more but hoped, in time, it would come. My schedule was certainly open.
    My band had just started to play one of her favorite songs, the Doby Grey classic “Drift Away, ” when I noticed a guy hassling her. She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her by the arm and kept trying to pull her onto his lap. Never the fragile flower, Karen smacked him across the face, and he stood up threateningly. I quickly scanned the room but saw no sign of Max’s steroid-ridden bouncer, Lou. As usual he was probably off trying to get laid by some underage teen.
    I put my guitar down and pushed through the crowd. The rest of the band didn’t miss a beat and improvised a string of bass and keys solos. I’d like to think that it was because they were seasoned professionals but I suspect it had more to do with their fear of getting chewed out by Max for stopping in the middle of a set.
    “Let her go, junior, before you get hurt,” I yelled above the noise.
    As the words spilled off my tongue, I realized he was a foot taller than me and at least eighty pounds heavier. He had a thick neck, and his arms were roughly the size of my thighs. He continued to hold on to Karen as he looked down on me. His eyes were bloodshot and said he’d had way too much to drink. Damn those dollar drafts.
    “Don’t fuck with me, shorty, I was all-state in high school,” he slurred.
    Behind him stood what looked like the entire offensive line for a Division III-A college football team, which is to say they weren’t really all that big for linemen; though still larger than me. I wondered briefly if I could take them. They’d all been drinking, and I was sober and getting angry. There was only about a twelve hundred-pound difference between u s nothing that I thought I shouldn’t be able to handle one kid at a time.
    “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are; let her go,” I demanded.
    “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he laughed.
    He let go of Karen and balled his Cro-Magnon sized hands into fists. That was all the intent needed. I hit him between the eyes with a left-right combo. He fell to his knees, his face almost instantly a bloody mask. In the background, my band abandoned “Drift Away” and broke into the theme from “Rawhide;” not one of them lifting a finger to help me. Bastards.
    Football boy shook it off and got up, his fists flailing like an unbalanced windmill. The crowd dispersed and gave him room, expecting to see the guitar player get his head handed to him. They were in for a major disappointment.
    I easily avoided his blows and nailed him with a roundhouse kick to the knee and a jab to the nose, knocking him back to his knees. He started to get up again but I landed a wicked hook kick to his head, and he went down face first like a sack of potatoes. He hit the vinyl floor with a large thud. His buddies stood in shock.
    “Who’s next?” I blustered, hoping none of them would take me up on the offer.
    They all stepped back, not wanting to