Moving Forward - 3. Chapter 3 (1.3)

Marshall barely kept himself from falling backward into the stall. He teetered on one leg for a moment before he managed to regain his balance. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

“You’re my fucking problem, that’s what. Think you’re all that and a bag of chips, but you’re just some little whore, that’s what you are.”

Marshall wasn’t one for fighting. Lee had taught him it didn’t solve anything. And honestly, he’d never had to before. But he was damned if he was going to listen to this guy’s shit either, not without responding, at least verbally.

“You don’t know me, and I don’t care what you think.”

“Of course not, whores don’t care about anyone, do they? You and your goddamned pimp…”

“My what?”

“That old man you hang out with. I’m not stupid. I know he’s pimping you out.”

Marshall began to see red. It was one thing to talk smack about him, but damned if he was going to listen to shit about Lee. He swung blindly at the other man, felt his fist connect with the man’s jaw. He staggered back a step.

Marshall started to push past him, but the man grabbed him and swung him hard, smashing his face against the wall. Marshall’s knees threatened to buckle as he struggled to remain upright. An unexpected kidney punch drove him to his knees.

“You got a lesson coming, little boy. How not to treat other men…”

He pulled Marshall’s head back by his hair, dragging him across the floor. Marshall reached behind him, grabbed the man’s wrists and tried to pull him off, but he was too strong. “I know just how to treat whores, and you’ll like it—”

“Hey you, what the hell do you think you’re doing to him?” A stranger came out from one of the stalls. He was tall and blond, and his eyes seemed to flash fire as he regarded the tableau before him.

“None of your goddamned business,” the first man began, but Marshall took advantage of his momentary distraction to wriggle out of his grasp. He felt his hair being pulled out by the roots, so tight was the man’s grasp, but he didn’t care. Staggering slightly, he crossed the floor, headed toward the door.

The newcomer laid a hand on Marshall’s arm. “Hang on there, let me walk you out.” He turned toward Marshall’s attacker, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here and never come back. I’m going to tell my father what you did. He just happens to own this place. And if you don’t leave now, I’ll make sure this guy presses charges, and I’ll testify for him.”

The man snarled and looked as if he wanted to hit them both. Marshall braced himself, prepared to throw the next punch.

“You’re not worth it.” He spat at Marshall as he passed by, a thick globule hitting his cheek and running down. He opened the door and disappeared from view.

“I think you need to sit down.” The blond threw his arm about Marshall’s shoulders, keeping him from falling. He reached up and wiped the spit from Marshall’s cheek.

All Marshall could think of was getting back to Lee. “I’ll be all right,” he insisted, taking deep calming breaths. “Does your father really own Partners?”

“Naw, I have no idea who the owner is.” The blond grinned. “Got rid of him real quick, though, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you sure did, good thinking.”

“You know him?”

“No. Danced with him once, that’s all.” Was all this trouble because Marshall said no to a second dance? That was just crazy.

“Maybe we should tell someone, in case he tries to come after you again...”

Marshall shook his head. “I think you scared him off. I’ll be more careful, I promise. Thanks again for your help…”

“My name’s Dustin. Dustin Johnson.” He held out his hand.

“Marshall Clinton.” Marshall took the offered hand. Dustin’s grip was warm and firm.

“I really appreciate your stepping in, Dustin. If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

“You can let me walk you to your table, just so I know you’re okay.” Dustin eyed him critically. “You’re not alone, are you?”

“No, I’m with someone.”

“All right, then, let’s go, shall we?”

Marshall couldn’t think of a reason not to. He was still shaky inside. Maybe Lee wouldn’t notice right away if he showed up at the table with Dustin. He might think he was flush from dancing or something. He’d tell Lee the truth when he could think a little straighter.

“Yeah, okay.” As they left, a couple of guys passed them by, but neither one was the man who’d just left. Dustin kept his hand on Marshall’s elbow as they threaded their way between the tables. “There, that’s the one.” Marshall pointed ahead of them to the table, where it looked like everyone was now sitting, along with afresh pitcher of beer.

Lee rose as Marshall approached. He looked between Marshall and Dustin. Marshall could read the concern in his eyes.

“I was thinking of sending out a search and rescue,” he joked, “you were gone so long—” Lee’s eyes widened, and Marshall realized belatedly that his clothes were probably awry, and his face messed up. He should have looked in the mirror first, but he hadn’t been thinking straight.

Lee came around the table, as Dustin stepped back. “What the hell happened?” He tilted Marshall’s face, examining him closely. Marshall tried not to wince.

“It’s okay, I’m okay now, Lee. Really. Let me just sit down and I promise I’ll tell you about it.” His eyes implored Lee to please not worry, and Lee reluctantly agreed. He put his arm around Marshall and guided him into his chair.

“There you are!” Denver suddenly leapt up, but his words weren’t for Marshall. “Hey everybody, I want y’all to meet my cousin, Dustin.”