A Flash of Green

I want to thank all of you for your critiques. Though I may not always agree, they, never the less, aid in my quest to better my writing.

Unfortunately for some, there is no sex in this story.

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"Ellen, get the door would you? I'm stuck in the bathroom!"

I heard my wife acknowledge, as her footsteps sounded over the tiled floors heading to the front entrance.

As I finished my business, I was curious why I didn't hear anything from Ellen. I thought she would have told me who had been at the front door long before I was done. Leaving the bathroom, I strolled down the hallway and into the kitchen and stopped dead in my tracks. There was my wife pressed against the counter, her top pushed up, along with her bra, over her breasts and a strange man's mouth attached to her left tit, sucking at her nipple like a starving newborn.

"What the fuck is going on?" I roared.

The man pulled away but wasn't shocked or afraid of my appearance, a smirk visible on his face. Even Ellen didn't seem fazed by my discovery.

"Oh...ah...Jason, there you are. Please be a dear and fetch my lover here a cold beer." She smiled as she said it, the stranger chuckling as he stared at me.

I could only stare at them. My wife stood as if nothing was wrong, her bosom on display, her left nipple glistening from that asshole's drool. As I studied him, the pompous jackass looked to be in his mid twenties, at least fifteen years junior to my wife and me.

He was taller, standing at six-three, me at five-eleven. Slender, he had that athletic look to him, and appeared as if he was more than capable of handling himself. As a matter of fact, he exuded a great deal of confidence and, with the sneer on his face, displayed considerable arrogance. His curly blond hair fell around a smooth tan complexion, clean shaven with the exception of just the wisp of a stinger below his lower lip. His eyes were a light hazel as he gazed at me probably gauging my own abilities to handle certain issues. He didn't look as if he was worried.

He casually leaned back against the counter, being careful not to crease his beige slacks that extended from beneath his expensive looking gray sweater.

"Yes, Jason...I'd really love a cold frosty one, thank you. Making love to your wife brings up a terrible thirst."

Ellen must have told him I was non-confrontational and wouldn't need to worry about my reaction. Otherwise, I doubt this fucker would have been this calm with my entrance to their little love fest. Of course, Ellen had reason to believe I wouldn't do anything. I am normally pretty quiet and, most times, reserved. At least that is what she's known of me during the six years of what I thought was a loving marriage.

I smiled at the prick and said, "Any particular brand you like? I have a number of different beers available."

Picking up on my tone, Ellen paled ever so slightly.

"No, not at all...surprise me," the smug cock-sucker chortled.

I stepped past the two of them and opened the refrigerator reaching in and grabbing a Sam Adams. Turning, I pushed past Ellen so I could get closer to the shit head. "How about a Sam?"

"Exelle..."

Fuck head never had the chance to finish his sentence. I had already opened the beer that was now draining inside the front of his pants. Before he was able to react, I had snagged his belt and jammed the bottle neck well inside his slacks.

"You fuckin son of a bitch," he screamed as his hands were busy trying to extricate the beer bottle from his britches. With both his hands engaged, I kicked him hard in the crotch and was satisfied with the sound of broken glass.

"Ahhhhggg....," he screamed, blood beginning to stain the crotch of his stylishly pressed beige slacks.

I grabbed a fist full of blond locks and yanked the whimpering shit bag out of the kitchen into the foyer. Opening the front door, I literally threw the sniveling piece of shit out the door. I returned to the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel...and Ellen, who by now had covered up, her face white with shock. Dragging her out the front door, I jammed the dish towel and her purse into her hand and said, "Take your lover to the hospital."

I leaned down to blondie and whispered in his ear, "This was such a horrible accident. I'd better not see any cops show up or I'll finish the job. Understand?"

Dick head, I never did ask his name, kept whining so I grabbed his hair and repeated myself, this time he violently nodded and said, "Yes."

I shoved him to my wife staring at her dumbfounded face, for once speechless, and walked back into the house.

Seconds later, I heard a car start up and leave. By now, my body was shaking, disbelief at not only what my 'loving wife' had tried to do but at my subsequent reaction. As I said before, I'm not a violent man...normally. But, there was a time when I was known for my quick temper and brutally intense outbursts.

I peaked forty years of age last month and Ellen was thirty-nine. We had been married for nearly six years. During that time, I never told her about my past growing up in Miami, Florida. I never told of the times when I was nothing more than a street thug, a white kid trying to survive in Little Cuba.

When I was twelve, my father was killed in a bar fight. I later found out a Cuban national got angry when he thought was my father trying to muscle in on his girl. The girl told the cops she had only asked my old man for a cigarette. My pop held his own pretty good until the Cuban's buddies came up from behind and knifed my pop in the back.

This left me with my mother, red-haired Irish beauty. My pop's death hit her hard. We were near poverty level as it was but now, with my father gone, we had nothing coming in. She found a job in a striptease bar and made some decent money until one of the customers got a little too friendly. The bouncer took care of the drunk but, later that night when she was leaving; the drunk had waited for her and beat her to death in a nearby alley. She lay there in that filthy rat-infested alleyway dying until morning when one of the many homeless rabble found her. By the time the cops and paramedics were there, it was too late.

I was fourteen then. Social Services found Sean Hennessey, my mother's brother and my new uncle. I never knew I had an uncle; my mother never spoke of him. Turns out, he owned and ran a bar not far from where my old man was killed. Sean took me in, reluctantly. I never called him uncle and he never asked me too.

Other than making sure I went to school, he never interfered with my life. Once, I asked him why my mother never mentioned him. Sean just looked at me and said, "Some things are better left dead," and walked away.

Because of my age and size and quick temper, I was always getting into fights...and losing. After my last clash, Sean finally took pity on me and said, "J.C.", Sean always called me J.C., "Life is a mean bitch to suckle from. Learn to survive with these." He held up his fists. "Oh, you can use a knife or a gun but you can lose the knife and a gun only holds so many bullets. But, you never lose these. I'll teach how to fight but surviving the streets, well...that is up to you." And teach me he did.

The part of Miami we lived in soon became overrun with Cuban refugees, most of them released from Castro's prisons. I learned fast how to stay alive with my fists and violent temper. I quickly got a reputation as a pretty good street fighter and soon got involved in illegal bare knuckle fighting. They call it cage or x-treme fighting now.

By the time I turned nineteen; I was one mean mother-fucking badass and spent the better part of my teens in juvie. It was a cop, of all people, that finally got me out of that environment. I was twenty-two and was hauled into the nearest Miami-Dade County Sheriff's Office for fighting. The cop that busted me, Deputy Will Hartman, sat me down in some kind of small room and just stared at me.

At length, he finally said, "Jason Michael Cooley," is your full name?

I nodded but added, "My friends call me Jas!"

He laughed and replied, "You don't have any friends...Jas!"

I looked at the walls, noting the graffiti, and nodded.

"Jas, I got a proposition for you. Interested?"

I didn't say anything but turned to gaze at him.

"Look, I got you for assault with a deadly weapon, namely your fists, and mayhem. You bit that other fucker's ear off. You're lucky we found the ear. Yeah, yeah...before you even say anything, I know it was in self-defense. It's always self-defense but that ain't going to wash this time. You're an adult now...no more juvenile hall, adult lock-up from here on out."

"So, what are you saying?" I asked.

He studied me for a minute or two before he spoke that one word that got me laughing.

"Marines!"

"You gotta be fucking kidding! The fucking Marines? NO WAY!"

"Just listen to me, Jas. You're smart, strong and know all about surviving in a less than friendly town. What better way to use all that aggression than the U.S. Marines? Besides, if you don't seriously consider this, I can guarantee where you're gonna end up."

"And, where is that?" I sneered.

"Dead!"

"Big fucking deal. So what? Everyone ends up dead. If you know anything about me, you'd know that."

"Jas, I know about your old man and your mother and I've spoken with your uncle. I know you've had to grow up on the streets and have seen some nasty crap. But, it doesn't always have to be that way. You can make something of yourself. Think about it while you're in lock up."

I did think about it, after the three attempts on my life in the county jail. Seems, the Cubans got word I was enemy number one. Maybe it was because the guy whose ear I tore off and nearly beat to death was one of theirs."

Next thing I know, I'm sliding my fat ass through warm thick mud, trying to avoid the razor wire above as charges are set off and bullets whip past while I crawl to the other end of the training pit somewhere on Parris Island, near Beaufort, South Carolina. It was one of three boot camps and all I could think of was, "What the fuck did I do?"

When I joined the Corps, Nam was over by several years so I didn't have any major engagements to worry about. Didn't mean I never had the chance to fight. I found myself stationed in Germany attached to the U.S. Embassy. While there, a couple of buddies and I went bar hopping in West Berlin resulting in one major donnybrook. The last place we went was a local underground beer hall with some pretty big Deutschers dominating the place. I guess the beer hall used to be a bomb shelter during the Second World War.

By this time, we were pretty soused and full of fight. It didn't take long to pick a fight with one of the locals. He was a big guy, standing around six-five and had to be at least two-seventy-five or three hundred pounds of muscle. He and his little Nazi buddies, they don't really like being called Nazis, didn't like us from the start and started making stupid little statements like, too bad the Soviets didn't kick our ass in Cuba and how the Commies will take over the U.S. Needless to say, a brawl ensued. By the time the M.P.'s and German police arrived, my big friend, Herr Hindenburg, was out cold, along with his cronies.

Once back on base, I had to stand before the mast answering the charges against me for fighting, causing a disturbance, assault and battery, malicious damage to property and a few other military charges for conduct.

I served a few days in the brig before my commanding officer appeared. He asked me one simple question. Would I be willing to fight in a ring?

"Sir, hell yes...uh, sir!" I answered.

I spent the next several years, becoming a sorta legend in the service. Oh, I lost a few fights but not many. What finally changed me happened in the ring. I killed a man. It was in a bout in the Philippines. He took a hard blow to the head and his brain hemorrhaged. He was dead before he hit the canvas. I don't know why but seeing him laying there, his eyes open but no longer seeing anything, shook me to the core. Much to the disappointment of my division and friends, I never fought again. Two months later, I asked for and received my discharge papers.

Back in the States, I enrolled in college studying computers and technology. I was taught a great deal through specialized training while in the Corps but there was so much more to learn and I was determined never to go back to my former life again. After five years, I graduated with honors and a Masters in Computer Science and Technology.

It wasn't long before I was hired into a very well known and successful tech company in San Jose, California, later known as Silicon Valley. I did very well and moved up in the business but wasn't satisfied. Working for others was just too restrictive. I wanted to start my own company. Luckily, two other co-workers felt the same and six months later, we quit and started C.B.S, Cooley, Bledsoe and Sterns, Tech Research, Inc.

The business took off. We became a major player in the Valley. We gauged our success by the many attempts to first purchase and then attack our business by the giant corporations, many of whom you already know.

With the growth of the internet, our company virtually exploded growing by leaps and bounds. We became well known for our technological breakthroughs in developing hardware that accelerated the speed of the information highway. My two partners and I were unbelievably rich.

When I entered my early thirties, I decided to visit my old haunting grounds in Miami. I wanted to visit with that deputy sheriff that changed my life but was saddened to learn he had died from wounds received in the line of duty five years ago. I did meet with his wife and family. I told them of what he did for me and his wife, Angela Hartman, hugged and kissed me on the cheek thanking me for the visit. Her two sons and daughter also took me into their hearts. Lisa, her daughter was in her late twenties and, like her mother, stunning. Still living with her mother, she had graduated from nursing school and was a surgical nurse at a local hospital. The two boys were younger, one a senior in high school, the other a freshman.

Angela never remarried and I could see she was struggling with the two boys so I set up a college trust for each of them with a monthly stipend for their mother. I did this anonymously but I know she realized who was behind the financial assistance. Every Christmas holiday, I would receive a card complete with photos and letter detailing how the children were doing. It made me happy to know I was doing something for the family of the man that saved me.

That was seven years ago. Now, I was forty, married for six years, no family and soon to be, no wife.

I grabbed the tonic water, my bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin and a tumbler and fixed up a gin and tonic. Taking the drink out to backyard, I slowly walked over to the small covered bench that faced toward a mass of flowers and shrubs bordering a large koi pond. The pond was fed with a constant stream of water cascading over several large stones forming a beautiful waterfall. The pond maintained an ecology of varied lily pads and water flowers with the brightly colored fish lazily swimming below. This was my escape, my place to relax and think.

I tried to understand what happened with Ellen. In all the years we've been together, she never once indicated she was not satisfied with our marriage. Maybe, she may have thought I was too quiet, timid for her tastes but, if so, she never complained.

I met Ellen at WestCom, a tech expo held in Anaheim, California. I was staying at the Marriott next door to the Anaheim Convention Center where the expo was taking place. Upon invitation, Jack Bledsoe, one of my partners and co-founders of Pac Tech, and I decided to attend the convention. While we hobnobbing with the other tech industrialists, I happened to glance at one of the other booths and spied an attractive brunette seated behind a counter cluttered with information packets.

"Uh...Jack, excuse me for a minute," I muttered as he was engaged in a heated dispute with another colleague regarding the validity of government regulation and the world wide net.

I remember walking across the aisle way and stepped up to the counter. Casually, I picked up a brochure on fiber optics and acted as if interested. The flyer had "WCOF or West Coast Optical Fiber.

"Can I interest you in the latest in fiber optic installation?" said an enthusiastic and very feminine voice.

"Only if we can discuss it over dinner," I answered staring at a set of beautiful blue eyes.

Ellen, at least that's what her name tag read, frowned at me and said, "I'm sorry but I don't think so. If you're not interested with what we offer, then please excuse me." With that, she stood and walked over to a geeky looking kid who turned to stare at me. He nodded and headed in my direction while she stepped behind a curtain.

"What can I do for you," said the kid, a stereotype of a techy geek.

"Uh...yes, I am interested in your product. What is your company's capability for installation of fiber optic for my firm?" I really had no interest in fiber optic...since we were already set up with the lines throughout our many buildings but I wanted to get to know Ellen.

"What is the name of your firm?" asked the kid. "CBS Tech Research in San Jose."

The kid's eyes nearly fell out of his head as he stuttered, "C...B...S Tech Research? You...you're Jason M. Cooley."

"Yes I am, do you have someone I can speak with, uh...how about that attractive woman, what's her name...Ellen?"

"Yes! Ellen...of course...let me get her for you!"

The kid quickly stepped behind the curtain. I heard them engage in a heated discussion that resulted in the kid, evidently her boss, say, "Either talk to him or your services are no longer required."

Reluctantly, the pretty woman returned, her face heated and her eyes blazing.

"Hello, Ellen. I apologize for my rudeness for wanting to take a beautiful woman to dinner. I should have maintained complete professionalism and I am sorry. Would you be willing to show me what you have with regard to fiber optic capabilities and how I can apply it in my company? Can you help me?"

Ellen stared, her mouth gaping. "Uh...maybe I over-reacted. I...I would love to show you what we have and how it would be beneficial for CBS Tech Research, Mr. Cooley."

"Please, call me Jas, short for Jason."

"Okay, Jas...would you like to sit down?" She pointed to a table set aside on the far side of their booth and, nodding, I moved toward the table, Ellen following close behind. While we were engaged in discussion about the advantages of fiber optics, Jack came over and stood next to the table glaring at me.

"Nice, Jas, real nice leaving me like that."

I laughed and said, "Hey, I didn't go far."

"So I see. Hello, I'm Jack Bledsoe. I'm so sorry you've had the unfortunate event of having to meet my associate, Jason Cooley. Jas, what are you doing here?"

I tried to signal Jack with my eyes not to say anything. The last thing she needed to know was Pac Tech was already set up with fiber optics. The man was clueless.

"Jas...we're already knee deep in optic cable..." He stopped mid-sentence when he finally caught on. "Uh...oookay, maybe we could use an upgrade...or something."

Ellen glared at me. "You are such an asshole," she angrily said. "I've been talking my fool head off the past thirty minutes about the all the advantages of fiber optic and how it will benefit your company. You are such an asshole, you already have it!"

Jack pursed his lips and said, "Please excuse me, I need to find a nearby tree shredder to jump into," and swiftly retreated. I looked at her trying to appear properly chastised but not very successful in doing so.