Part 1: When We Were Young

Mary's first fist fight happened in fourth grade. It was all Ellie Brant's fault.

Ellie Brant's daddy managed Hudson City Savings in Paramus, New Jersey. He drove a Rolls Royce and had a thin little mustache, like a permanent chocolate milk stain on his upper lip. Her mommy always had perfect pink nails and looked like she had just smelled Jinx's morning breath. Ellie had glossy black hair, bright blue eyes and a mean streak a mile wide.

On that Tuesday afternoon, Ellie, Chrissie and Liz were swinging on the swing set as recess, doing their best to take flight into the clear blue April sky. Mary was playing catch with Jimmy on the other side off the playground. At first she ignored the girls on the swings. They were singing some silly song at the top of their lungs, but she tuned it out and focused on the soft leather of her baseball glove and the solid weight of the ball as she tossed and caught. She was going to kill at try outs next year.

"J-Bird and Jimmy, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

First comes theft, then comes prison,

Then comes J-Bird..."

Mary hefted the baseball a little too hard. It whistled past Jimmy's ear, hit the ground, and bounced into the bushes at the edge of the property. Jimmy hurried after it , disappearing into the bushes.

"Watch out Jimmy!" Ellie called swinging high in the air her black curls streaming behind her, "You know what happens when you take your eyes off a Shannon…"

Mary clenched her hands into tight fists, the unsaid half of Ellie's comment running through her brain They rob you blind. In the four years since James Shannon disappeared most kids at school had tired of calling Mary J-Bird, conspicuously locking up their belongings when she was around or making jokes about how all the Shannons were thieves, but not Ellie.

The sound of feet landing in pea gravel brought Mary's eyes to the swing set. Ellie had leapt from the swing and landed in the gravel. The swing's chains rattled as it swung out of control for a moment before settling back to gentle rocking. Ellie smiled like a shark approaching a school of fish. "What's the matter J-Bird? Did Daddy steal your tongue too?"

Mary clenched her teeth but refused to give in to Ellie's attempts to bait her. There were no teachers in sight, but Mary had learned years ago that they had a funny way of appearing in seconds if you swore or threw things at teacher's pets like Ellie.

"Fine, don't talk. No one wants you here anyhow, at least if you aren't talking we can pretend you don't exist." Ellie half turned before adding, "At least, when we're upwind."

"Shut up Ellie!" Mary yelled, her face turning red with anger.

"Ooooh, watch out Ellie!" Chrissie called in a mocking voice, "I think the baby-J-bird is going to cry."

Not really thinking about what she was doing, Mary lunged at Ellie, flailing her fists in a poor imitation of the punches she'd seen on TV. She managed to land a few feeble hits before Ellie shoved her and she fell back onto the gravel

Ellie sneered down at her "Learned that form your daddy did you? How to survive prison 101?"

"I said SHUT UP!" This time Mary was better prepared, she launched herself at Ellie, catching her around the waist and tackling her to the ground. She pinned Ellie with her body and struck at Ellie's pretty face with both hands. Her left knuckles connected with Ellie's face. There was a sickening crunch and blood began to flow out of Ellie's nose.

"Girls!" Mrs. Appleton , the fifth grade teacher sprinted across the gravel playground and pulled Mary off the prostrate Ellie.

Mary was suspended for two weeks, but no one ever called her J-Bird again.

Marshall didn't get into a fist fight until he was twenty two years old. Growing up the youngest of five boys, he'd learned early the value of avoiding physical combat and become an expert at redirecting tensions through smooth talk and a quick wit. It was an important skill for a boy who didn't grow much taller than five feet until he was eighteen and who, at twenty-two, still had not filled out his 6'2" frame well enough to be described as anything but scrawny. Peace worked for Marshall Mann.

All of this changed one night shortly after his birthday and it was all Laverne Durvis's fault.

Lavern Durvis and Marshall met in their first year at the University of New Mexico. Lavern sat behind Marshall in Math 101 and tried to copy off Marshall's test paper on their first quiz. After the class Marshall confronted him, with an offer of free tutoring in exchange for Lavern keeping his eyes on his own paper. A tentative friendship followed. Lavern was not the type of person Marshall usually chose for a friend. He wasn't studious, he was a member of Sigma Chi and dated a different blonde haired, doe eyed, big breasted Cover Girl wannabe every week. Yet Lavern seemed to find Marshall fascinating and Marshall, not wanting to be rude, attended parties and football games with Lavern's crowd at least once a month for their entire four year stay at UNM.

Marshall never joined the fraternity, but he took on the arduous task of tutoring several more of their membership and by his third year the only thing separating him from a fraternity member was his private off campus apartment and his 4.2 GPA. After graduation they remained in close contact, Lavern dragging Marshall out for dinner or drinks whenever he travelled back through New Mexico on business, which was often since he always managed to make his trips from the club he managed in Las Vegas and the club's board of directors in Miami pass through Albuquerque.

One of these trips fell two days after Marshall's twenty-second birthday. As was their usual routine, Lavern and three of his fellow Sigma Chi arrived, unannounced, on Marshall's doorstep at ten after nine and all but dragged him downtown to Haven. It was their favorite club. All bright lights, twelve dollar drinks, under aged girls in tight tops and short skirts, and bouncers who would let in a five year old if the kid slipped him a crisp Andrew Jackson.

Marshall stuck out at Haven like an FBI agent at a child's birthday party. No matter what outfit Lavern insisted he wear, his calm, relaxed demeanor and visible respect for women kept him separate from his companions. The Sigma Chi boys grinned like naughty school boys who think they have just pulled on an elaborate prank on the teacher and ordered entire trays of shots for tables of girls calling for "body shots!" Most of the time, Marshall hung back, nursing a bottle of beer and observing the bizarre mating ritual going on before him. However, this time, Lavern insisted that Marshall join the fun.

"Come on, man! You haven't lived until you've licked salt off some chick's stomach!" Lavern tugged at Marshall's arm.

"You're too tense man!" Jackson Kirkpatrick, another Sigma Chi Marshall had tutored at UNM, added. "We're young and sexy…" he looked Marshall up and down, "well we're young anyway. There will be plenty of time to drink beer and dream about saving the world when you're forty."

Reluctantly, Marshall rose from his seat and followed his companions across the crowded dance floor to a table on the other side of the club. There were eight girls in matching pink t-shirts with "bridesmaid" written in rhinestones across the front. Marshall scanned the room and found the bride dancing with Chet a few feet away. He knew she was the bride by the white veil pinned to her long black hair. Marshall shook his head, Chet had always had a thing for unavailable women. When they were in their fourth year, Chet had been expelled after the university found out he had not only been involved in an affair with his married lit professor, but that he'd made a sex tape and used it to blackmail her into giving him passing grades after the affair went sour.

Chet was far from Marshall's favorite person. In fact he was one of the people from UNM Marshall had hoped would find their calling in the armed forces, or the Alaskan oil fields, anything that would take the man far from Albuquerque. Instead, Chet had taken over his dad's hardware store and was a regular members of Lavern's little parties. Tonight he was in fine form. Marshall could see from here that one of Chet's hands was fondling the Bride's breast while he ground his pelvis against her in a sad pantomime of dance. Marshall could tell too that the woman was hammered. She wasn't dancing so much as she was staggering in an attempt to stay upright. Occasionally he head would tip towards Chet's shoulder and then snap up as if she were jerking awake.

Marshall's lips pressed tightly together as he continued to watch the pair. When Chet's hand slid below the woman's top Marshall stood abruptly and stalked out onto the dance floor.

"Hey man!" Chet grinned, making no move to remove his hand from the woman's breast. "there are some fine ladies here tonight. Thank God, I need to get LAID!"

"Chet, she's engaged. This is her bachelorette party, man." Marshall kept his voice low, but the tightening of Chet's face told Marshall the man had heard every word .

"Why you gotta be such a buzz kill? She ain't complaining."

"She's practically ready to pass out, Chet. Just let me put her in a cab and you can go tap any of the unwed bridesmaids you want."

"Fuck off grandpa!"

"Get. Your. Hand. Out. Of. Her. Shirt." Marshall bit out each word, "And. Let. Her. Go. Home."

Chet rolled his eyes, "I told Lavern you were a fun killing tight ass. Why he insists on bringing you along I will never know. What'd you give him a blow job that blew his world wide open?"

Following an urge he didn't recognize or fully understand Marshall swung at Chet, his curled fist connecting with a crack against Chet's stubble dusted cheek.