THE BODYGUARD
TRANSIENT FACES WITH NO NAMES,
I GET PAID TO TAKE THE BULLET OR THE BLADE.
TIMES ARE TOUGH, THINGS ARE HARD, THIS IS MY CALLING CARD.
I’M THE BODYGUARD.
I GET PAID TO GET YOU THROUGH LIFE, WHILE SOMEONE OUT THERE
TRIES TO GET YOU WITH A KNIFE.
SNIPERS ON THE ROOF, YOU’RE UNDER FIRE, DONT WORRY SIR,
MY SKILLS ARE FOR HIRE.
I AM THE BODYGUARD.
SHOTGUNS, H&K’S, GLOCK WEAPONS TOO, ALL THE WHILE YOU’RE SLEEPING,
I’LL BE WATCHING OVER YOU.
I’LL KEEP YOU ALIVE, JUST DO WHAT I SAY.
I KNOW THIS BUSINESS WELL AND DEAD CLIENTS DONT PAY.
I AM YOU’RE BODYGUARD!
WRITTEN BY A. COHEN 1993
1050 HRS. AFTER A HOME INVASION ON A CLIENT IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
AFTER SPENDING A QUIET EVENING WATCHING OVER A FAMILY OF FOUR.
(GOOD GUY 3 / BAD GUYS 0)
In no particular order, I would like to thank and acknowledge the people who were either teammates, family and friends, some of them who pulled my chestnuts out of the fire more than once. For privacy purposes, I will not mention real names, but those who were there, know who they are and I thank you.
While I was out saving my clients and their little piece of the world it was my kids who sacrificed the most, I missed out on a lot with them. I want them to know how much I love them, Ashli and Aaron you guys are my world!
Julie, thanks and I’m sorry for the sleepless nights.
To my “brother” Pepper my kids still have a father thanks to you, I love you man!
Robin, over a decade! Yeah yeah, fuck me runnin I know. Thanks for everything. Really.
Kerri, thanks for sharing me with your friends and family, it’s nice to have an East Coast support group.
“Teddy”...R.I.P. I’ll never forget what you taught me. “nobody gets left behind” Thank you for bringing me home you carried me and now I carry you everyday. HOOYAH!
To my teammates: I learned a lot, saw a lot and used it all. Our “dirty dozen” was a brotherhood, I didn't understand what that really meant until you taught me that real heroes don't wear capes, they wear combat boots and carry their brothers home when they can’t do it themselves. Thanks for the opportunities, the teachings and the life lessons, there isn't a day that goes by I don't use them.
Kristen, what say we take a “vacation” huh? No beaches, NO WATER? I love you babe.
To all of those who get dressed every morning knowing you’re going into harms way for others...keep low, don't cast a shadow and come home to those who love you. Thank You All!
Arielle, you have no idea how much I miss you everyday, you can come home at anytime you like.
The whine of the twin engines had barely ceased, when the door to the Learjet opened and the steps lowered to touch the dirt floor of the private hangar. A large figure appeared in the doorway, methodically scanning the area with a well-seasoned eye. Ever so gingerly, cautiously, he took each step, one after the other until he reached the ground.
Crouching, the man searched under the plane, hoping to find nothing. As he turned into the light that seeped through the double bay doors, anyone who may have been in close proximity would see the H & K MP5 submachine gun cradled in his arms, matching every move he made. When satisfied the area was secure, he pulled a small transmitter from a belt holster and spoke into it, “All clear sir.”
The second man to exit the plane was similar to the first, although he was wearing something other than BDU’s (battle dress uniform). Upon closer inspection however, there were certain things that would give him away as a member of the protective detail. One such thing, the combat boots he wore with his Nino Cerutti, double breasted, steel-blue, pinstriped suit. The man who tailored this outfit was a master. Much thought and attention to detail goes into tailoring a suit for a man this size. For a man who carries so much hardware, yet goes undetected, a suit such as this is as important to him as his weaponry. Sporting a flattop haircut, showed another telltale sign this man was not who he seemed. As far as Terrence Calhoun was concerned, no one could cut his hair like himself.
Looking over at his partner Jason, Terry thought back on how they had been working together for five years this month. Promises to Jason and his wife Amanda, to dinner for a dual celebration when this assignment was over, played in Terry’s mind. Two anniversaries were to be toasted: one, the wedding anniversary of Jason and his bride, the other, of Terry and Jason’s partnership. Thoughts of steak and champagne brought a brief smile, with the anticipation of the feast they would share in about seventy-two hours.
Rounding the front of the plane, Terry watched the third member of the detail come down the stairs with an older man, the POTC (President of the Corporation). Ponce was the newest guy on the team. While working for a couple that hired Terry and Jason for a private party, Terry had the opportunity to meet Ponce. Escorting an elderly gentleman, who really didn’t need a bodyguard, Ponce was more of a companion who could keep the street vermin away. Watching him all night, Jason and Terry were impressed with his professionalism. As Ponce was about to leave the party, Jason handed him a card asking him to call if he was interested in working for them. That was two years ago. Ponce called and the rest, as they say, is history.
Constantly hounding Terry, Jason wanted him to either get his brother from another mother Pepper, to join, or hire a third hand so they could get the better gigs.
Hesitant to take that kind of responsibility for other people’s lives, Terry would say, “It’s bad enough I have to put myself between a bullet and my client. It doubles the responsibility when you and I are together, but to add a third person...I don’t know if I want that kind of load.”
So, Ponce became the third hand.
Terry knew Pepper would join them as soon as he got out of the Navy; it was all he talked about. The “brothers” had it all planned out. Pepper would join the service and get as much info out of it as possible while Terry would go into the private sector and learn everything he could. Even if it meant working for free, he would make that sacrifice so they could start their own company and do it their own way. Pepper and Rowdy had been friends since they were children; growing on the same block the two were inseparable. When they were still in their teens the two formed plan to open their own business, it was a coin toss that decided who would join the military and who would go private. Pepper joined the Navy and Rowdy worked for anyone that he thought he could learn from.
While attending a private academy that trained bodyguards, Terry and Jason met. By the end of the six-week period, they were inseparable. It was during this time they would form a partnership that would last forever. Three years later they hired Ponce, a Puerto-Rican American with a quick wit and skill for business they both admired. Within eight months, they made Ponce a partner and their business doubled.
Completing his last step from the plane, Ponce led the POTC toward a makeshift table, made from a broken piece of plywood crossed over two fifty-five gallon drums. Hearing the sound of an approaching car in the distance did not go undetected by Jason, “looks like Raphael at the wheel,” he announced.
“Look alive people, this is not a drill!” Terry warned.
Slowing in front of the bay doors, a black Lincoln Limousine pulled along side of and stopped next to the hangar. Quickly getting out of the vehicle, the driver hurriedly moved to the back door of the sleek car, opening it. A young man of about thirty-five wearing a straw hat, exited the rear of the car and swiftly moved inside the building, with the driver hot on his heels.
As both men entered the hangar, they were greeted by the stifling heat.
“Bienvidoes, mi amigos, welcome to Colombia!” The hatted man said with a smile, as he embraced the POTC.
“Gracias Señor Stamos, cuomo estas?” replied the POTC with a laugh.
“I am impressed gringo, your Spanish is getting better."
The driver of the limo smiled at Terry and Jason, joining them as his boss and theirs had important things to discuss.
“How have you been Raphy?” Jason inquired.
“Man, things are pretty tense about this buyout. The people who live near the plant are pissed that your boss is selling out to Stamos.”
Terry cocked his head and asked, “Why would they care?”
“Because this fucker's only interested in the equipment and stocks. Once he sells them, he plans to close the plant. Three thousand people are gonna be out of work.”
Jason let out a low whistle and shook his head, “Shit Ter, I hope this goes smooth so we can get out of here in one piece.”
“Relax, this trip ain’t nothin’ but a thang,” Terry said, in his best street slang.
“Besides, I have dinner reservations waitin’ for us and I don’t plan on bein’ late.”
All three laughed.
Their revelry was short-lived and broken by all hell breaking loose, as Raphy crossed in front of the half-open hangar doors. Hit mid-chest by several high powered rounds, most of the contents of large mans chest sprayed onto the dirt floor. Banking away from the open doors, Jason and Terry rolled behind a couple of empty drums and came up with guns blazing. Grabbing the POTC, Ponce dragged him up the stairs to the plane, with Señor Stamos directly behind them.
“Get your ass on the plane!” Terry yelled to Jason, over the noise of the turbines picking up momentum.
“I’m not leaving you here!” Jason shouted back.
“Fuck you, if you think I’m staying, I’ll be right behind you!” As Terry shouted those words, the metal wall he was seeking refuge behind suddenly opened up from the spray of automatic machine gun fire. Terry felt a sharp, stinging pain against his left eyebrow, then the warmth of blood running freely down his face. The turbines were at full ready and Ponce yelled at both men to get on the plane.
Another burst over Terry’s head had him scrambling for the steps to the plane. Looking over his shoulder, he watched in horror as Jason was practically cut in half by enemy fire.
“NOOOOOO!” he screamed.
Ponce was already down the stairs, yanking Terry into the plane.
“We can’t leave him God dammit!” Terry cried, attempting to pull away from Ponce.
“We don’t have a choice Terry, the POTC wanted us to leave you and you’re not dead yet!” argued Ponce, as he threw Terry into his seat.
Pressing his face against the oval window of the plane, Terry could no longer see his friend. With fists against the wall, Terry made a decision. Standing up from his seat, he attempted to move to the front of the plane. Blocking his way, Ponce stood in front of him.
“We need to get that bleeding under control and that cut sewn up,” said Ponce tersely.
“Get out of my way,” ordered Terry.
The look of death in his eyes was intimidating, even to Ponce. Nodding his head, Ponce stepped aside. Terry made his way forward to the POTC and Señor Stamos. Leaning in close, he stuck his Smith & Wesson .40 caliber handgun in the POTC’s face and pulled the trigger. The front of the POTC’s pants developed a dark, wet mark, and then he passed out.
Stamos belly laughed and slapped Terry on the back, “Señor has the balls of steel, no?” Smiling, Terry went back to his seat.
“What happened?” asked Ponce frantically.
“No more bullets I guess,” Terry mumbled, as he fell into his seat.
Ponce grabbed the gun from his hand and racked the slide, ejecting a live round into the air. Losing his grip on reality, Terry began to laugh. Ponce dropped the round back into the gun, dropped the slide and aimed it at a bulletproof vest draped over a seat. The sound of the unmuffled .40 caliber handgun on the plane was deafening. Ponce’s normally bronze skin, turned pale, as the color drained from his face. Terry kept laughing and the POTC who was just coming to from his fainting spell, wet himself again, just to pass out once more. Señor Stamos sat in his seat openmouthed.
Sitting behind the wheel of his eighty-three Blazer four-by, Terry watched Ponce walk over to and hop inside the passenger seat.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Terry said, his voice barely a whisper.
Ponce handed Terry two thick, number ten, plain white envelopes. Pulling his Spyderco knife from his back pocket, Terry slit them both open. Thumbing through the wad of money, satisfied the agreed upon amount was there, he checked the second envelope, coming to the same conclusion.
Waiting patiently and silently for him to finish, Ponce handed him another envelope. This one was brown and bore the logo S.I. Ltd., Stamos Industries. Terry slit it open and spilled the contents out onto the console between himself and Ponce. Handing a handful to Ponce and scooping up the rest for to himself, he began to count.
“Thirteen thousand, two hundred and sixty-four bucks. Fuck me runnin.'" Terry said with disbelief.
“I got eleven thousand, seven hundred and thirty-six right here. Jeezus Ter, that’s twenty-five grand above and beyond the fifty large we got for the job!” Countered Ponce.
“Put it back in the envelope, it belongs to Amanda,” said Terry quietly.
Ponce never said a word. Stuffing the money into the envelope, he returned it to his friend. The two rode back to the office in silence. Ponce waved at Terry as he drove off, with no thoughts of envy for him at that moment. Knowing the job of telling Amanda and the kids that Jason didn’t make it, wouldn’t be an easy one. Shaking his head sadly, Ponce got into his car and drove home.
Amanda heard Terry pull into the driveway. Coming around the corner of the red tile walkway, leading from the door of their modest three-bedroom home in Lake Elsinore to the driveway, she waved.
“Hey Terry!”
She was in a good mood. Amanda was always in a good mood, that was one constant in Terry’s life. Calling the house to talk with Jason, she would always answer the phone with a melodious tone in her voice. Terry was about to see another side to Amanda.
“Where’s Jason, getting the gear out of the truck?” Putting his arms on hers, Terry began to back her up the walk.
Standing on her tiptoes, Amanda tried to see if Jason was hiding behind Terry in an attempt to sneak up on her and yell boo. Jason loved to play this game from time to time.
“Amanda...” Her face became stoic, as she looked directly into Terry’s eyes, then he saw the pain.
“Oh my God...” she whispered, shaking her head. Pulling her to him, Terry tried to comfort her. Jumping back, Amanda landed a fist across his jaw catching him off guard.
“You bastard! You promised! For Christ sake Terry, you promised me!” Wailing mournfully, Amanda continued to remind Terry of a promise made the promise of Jason’s safe return.
Dragging her into the house, Amanda suddenly became dead weight. Scooping her up, Terry carried Amanda into the living room, depositing her on the couch. She fell asleep sobbing in his arms, he was thankful her kids were at their grandmother’s. Terry finally gave in to exhaustion and even in sleep, he held her.
Terry awoke with Amanda sitting on his morning erection, by the time Terry realized it was not a dream he was having it was too late, he released deep inside Amanda.
She looked down at him, her bangs framing her face, she smiled timidly and thanked him for “being there, I just needed to feel closer to Jason” she lied through her tears as she rolled off and headed to the bathroom in one smooth maneuver.
Terry heard the door lock from the bed, he sat up and couldn't believe what just happened, he grabbed his clothes and turned on the shower in the guest bath down the hall.
Having a Lady MacBeth moment in the shower Rowdy couldn't scrub hard enough, the best place to cry is in the shower, get it out now and you can be stoic in front of the girl he kept repeating in his head. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.
The day brought the harsh task of packing up the house. “I have something for you,” mumbled Terry, as he reached into his coat pocket.
Pulling the brown envelope from inside, he handed it to her and having a hard time making eye contact.
“How much is here?” she asked, appearing stunned.
Lying, Terry said, “Forty K, it was his take from the gig, now its yours.”
“Terrence Alan Calhoun, since when do you take me for a fool?”
Looking at the ceiling, then to the floor, he asked, “Huh?”
“You guys never clear this kind of money on a gig, never!”
Swallowing hard, trying not to let it show, he answered, “We got a bonus.”
This time he wasn’t lying.
“How much?” she asked, while eyeing him like an Eagle watching a rabbit.
“Twenty-five grand.”
“Terry I cant take this much...”
He cut her off. “You don’t worry about it. You’ve got forty large there and another twenty-five in the bank, Ponce transferred the funds this morning. Add to that another three million you've got comin' from the insurance money and if that isn’t enough, you also have a twenty-five percent stake in the company. We will keep depositing the earnings every month into this account.”
Running a thumb over the well-worn account book, he handed it to her.
Amanda sat down at the kitchen table putting her head in her hands, “What else don’t I know about my husband’s affairs?” she whispered.
“You now know everything,” Terry answered.
Standing up, Amanda crossed the cool tile of the kitchen floor, then threw out her arms and hugged Terry’s large frame. Hugging her back, but before he could pull away, she kissed him full on the mouth. He actually enjoyed it for a brief second, and then pushed Amanda back.
“Sorry,” Terry whispered.
Moving toward the door, with a shaking voice, Terry said, “Call me when you get settled, or if you need anything.”
He left two large and very long black stripes down the street as he left, fuck me runnin,' he said to himself, as he gripped the steering wheel.
Jason was gone. Terry had broken his promise. As he drove away, Terry knew he would never go back to the business again. He would sell out his share, make sure Amanda and the kids were set, but he would never go back.
Never say never....and never say you wont go back. FMR.
It’s truly amazing what the human mind can hone in on when one is in the midst of a major adrenaline rush. Gunfire’s blasting all around and you have some asshole checking out the local beauties, as you’re flying through some shit hole of a town at one hundred miles per hour.
“Wow Rowdy, didja’ see that one!? The one in red!?” asked Ponce. He was in love again, with only a glimpse to go by.
Now you wouldn’t think that the mind could actually perceive such a vision of loveliness with the speeds we were traveling, would you? Well, there are some things that just stand out, especially when you’re in the middle of nowhere. The place just had death for its color of browns and grays were pretty much it, except for her.
Standing tightly pressed against the wall of some worn out building, she tried desperately to stay out of our way. Her long, black hair and red dress were such a contrast to her surroundings; you couldn’t help but notice her. Her dress could barely contain her tits, so I imagine Ponce couldn’t help but notice her either. He will forever be a breast man. I, on the other hand, was distracted, but not by tits and ass.
“God dammit Terry, I’m talkin’ to you!” he shouted again, attempting to get my attention. And in case ya’ll haven’t figured it out yet, Rowdy and Terry are one in the same...me. But, we’ll get to the nickname later.
I felt a stinging slap against my cheek and jaw line. “What the fuck?” I asked, rubbing my cheek.
“Whatcha’ do that for?”
“Feel like joinin’ the rest of us kiddies for all this fun!?” Ponce asked with sarcasm, while reloading his AK 47.
“Sorry man, I was just thinkin’ about Jason. You know that son-of-a-bitch Allbright, said this was supposed to be a walk in the park?”
“I truly believe he was bullshittin’ ya dude!”
I shook my head in disgust as I glanced over at Ponce. There he was, in a fit of laughter, while I was trying to figure out what way in particular I’d like to painfully separate Allbright from his balls.
“Gee, ya think?” I asked.
“Well, if we live through this, remind me to kill him!”
“Yeah, if and when brother-man, if and when!”
With the slap throwing me back into the game, as team leader I had to quickly assess the situation: we had Pepper, M.C. and Tim in the lead car. Ponce, Mr. Yakamoto (the POTC) and myself in a fast second. Tom, Alex and Axel as cover in third, with Senior, Roger and Todd, holding strong on the rear. Our convoy had just sped through some toilet of a town even God must have forgotten. The team, still showing its approval or disapproval of the woman in red, also had a heated debate going as to how pretty the girls were south of the border. To top it all off, we had some very bad Mexicans shooting very big guns and we were their target.
To add the proverbial fly to the ointment, Pepper was trying to drive and eat a hamburger at the same time. Actually, that wasn’t the irritating part. He executed fine driving style as far as I could see, as he maneuvered his vehicle to avoid running over chickens and pigs. As Pepper swerved to miss a small animal of some kind, M.C. attempted to tuck in a dip. Because of the constant careening of the car, he kept spilling his precious chew and that pissed him off to no end. Unfortunately for the rest of us, we got to hear just how pissed off he was. Our voice activated, team radios were so sensitive, that if one farted, the rest of us heard it.
“How can you eat a hamburger at a time like this!?” demanded M.C.
“The thang about it is...” You could barely understand a damn thing that came out of Pepper’s overly stuffed mouth.
“I got this thang long ‘afore them SOB’s started chasin’ us! If you think I’m gonna just throw it out the window cause a few guns are goin’ off, you’re outta your shit for brains mind! It took me two days to find somebody that could even make me a hamburger!”
“Two days!? What the fuck have you been asking for? It’s just a hamburger for Chrissake!”
Shoveling in another mouthful, Pepper continued, “Everyone just kinda looked at me funny when I asked for a burger, so I just kept lookin!'”
“You stupid, southern son-of-a-bitch! If you would speak English correctly, you might get what you asked for. Friggin’ moron," M.C. mumbled.
“So, whatcha’ trying to say?” I looked over at Ponce and all he did was shrug, as if to say, “Hey, he’s your brother!”
I looked behind us and could see that Tom appeared to be struggling with the steering of his Ford Taurus. “Tom, you okay back there?” I asked
“Musta taken a hit to the pump!” he answered, as Axel leaned far out the window to return fire from the truck behind them.
Tom kept yelling at him to get down, but it was too late, the Mexicans took care of him. Taking a direct hit to the head and spraying gray matter everywhere, Axel tumbled out of the car. To add insult to injury, Senior flattened him out while trying to tighten the distance between himself and his team mates. If you knew Axel, you’d realize that was no easy feat. “Christ I never could stand him, mumbled Tom.
Senior jumped in with, “Hey Tom! This car was not designed to run over such big fuckin’ objects! Oh by the way, I heard that! No one would believe you liked him anyway, not even a little bit!” Senior was laughing his ass off, as he resumed his own personal gun battle.
We caught some reference from Tom about Senior’s mother, when next we heard what sounded like a grunt of pain.
I needed to get a handle on the predicament, ‘cause things were not good. “SitRep!” I ordered to all. It was time to pull something out of our asses...and fast.
Senior was first to report, “Roger’s been hit pretty bad and our ammo’s running low!”
“I’m OK,” shouted Roger, “it went clean through!”
Tom piped in with his two bits, “I have ammo, my car is making a funny noise and I want to go home now!”
“Hey you guys,” said M.C. softly, “I have an idea.”
“But I haven’t finished my burger yet!” whined Pepper.
“Take it easy, it’ll all be over in a minute,” he replied. Whenever M.C. got this certain quiet voice, you knew there would be a very loud noise behind it.
“Here, take this for a sec, OK?”
“Oh Jeeeeeezus! Give me a warnin’ the next time ya want me ta hold a grenade!” shouted Pepper.
M.C. positioned himself to throw the grenade, then looked to Pepper and shouted, “OK! Give it up!” Pepper pulled the pin and handed M.C. his burger. During the confusion, he stuffed the grenade in his mouth, as M.C. threw out the hamburger. A direct hit to the windshield of the bad guy, started M.C. laughing when he saw the look on the drivers face.
“Hahahahaha, fuckin’ A!” he shouted, “Did you see that guy?”
Just as I was about to warn Pepper about the live grenade, he spat it out the window. I’d never seen anything like it! The fuckin’ thing hit the ground, bounced right over the roof of our car, rolled under Tom’s car, then exploded against the bad guys truck! Seemed like Mr. Murphy, (the unseen guest at every OP), caught a ride with the Mexicans. Thankfully for us, the Gods of war were behind us that day.
I saw Pepper look back at the exploding vehicle, “Gawdamn! Do you have any idea what it’s gonna take for me to replace that burger!?”
M.C. laughed, and full of satisfaction answered, “Two days, I know!” To the rest of us he said, “OK everyone, let’s go home!”
Pepper continued to give M.C. an ear-full over his lost burger, Gawdammit’ about this, that and another. The one thing you have to understand is that Pepper loves hamburgers. He could eat them for every meal.
“Uh, Rowdy? Listen, we have one small problem,” said M.C. “What the hell is it now M.C.?”
In his best Pepper impersonation he said, “The thang about it is...I just looked into the rear view mirror and there’s still one more truck back there, with lots more bad guys. Oh yeah, these guns are fully automatic! Uh, I guess that would be two small problems!”
Looking behind us and seeing the truck moving fast on Tom, I ordered, “Deal with it!” I’d just about reached the end of my rope on this gig. I looked over at Ponce.
“Ya know? It really pisses me off that he can be so calm at a time like this!”
Ponce, ever the quipster, laughed, “Just you wait till he runs out of Copenhagen!”
Well, fuck me! I couldn't remember the last time a simple bodyguard gig had been run so ass backwards. What the hell did we get ourselves into? I was asking myself. I began to think back. Back to before this Op was dropped on us...back to before I signed over my soul...
Okay, so I’m a son-of-a-bitch, I’d be the first to admit that one. Ask anyone who knows me. Christ, better yet, ask my wife. I’m sure she could come up with a few choice words to describe me. In fact, son-of-a-bitch might even be one of the nicer ones. Slamming the door to my home didn’t relieve any of the raging testosterone surging through my body, but I think I made my point. At least she knew I was pissed. She, being Janet Calhoun, my wife. Talk was no longer an easy thing for us. Between the arguments and hurtful words, an uncomfortable silence formed between us. There were some days that I swear to God, I should have listened to my brother.
“The thang about it is...,” Pepper would say, “bed her or live with her, just don’t marry her.”
“Shit!” I said out loud, as I slammed the door to my pickup and saw Janet headed straight for me. As she came closer to my Dodge, I could see her tear stained cheeks. All right, so I felt a momentary stab of guilt, but believe me, it wouldn’t last long. I couldn’t afford the emotions she wanted to see from me. After seeing what human beings can do to one another, you have to learn to shut down. To turn off that part of you that grieves for the mother who lost her son to a drive by shooter or the rage of a fellow officer killed in the line of duty. The problem for me? I didn’t know how to turn that switch back on anymore or worse, I didn’t know if I really wanted to. It was easier to deal with everything in my life with the cold efficiency I had learned from my line of work. No emotion, no depth, no pain. Yeah...right.
“Look Terry,” began Janet, “I’m still pissed, OK? There’s just no way in hell I’m going to let you go to work, without telling you I love you.”
“Janet, ya know I do too.” I hoped I could come off appearing to be less than the ogre she believed me to be. With a callused finger, I reached to wipe away her tears. “But I’ve got to go to work.”
“Go then! You’re very good at leaving!” “Come on Janet, don’t be like this.”
As if searching for something, she looked into my eyes--for what, only she knew. With a quivering chin, she turned and ran back into our home. “Fuck!” I said out loud. So much for trying to be Mr. Nice Guy. Revving up my pickup, punching it into reverse and with a quick squeal of the tires and faint smell of rubber, I headed out for my hour-long drive to work. An hour can be a fleeting moment for some men in reflection. For a man such as myself, an hour may as well be eternity, with too many demons to wrestle and too many nameless faces.
More often than not, I would use this time to reflect on my life. Now there’s a real party. Of course you could ask, which one. I led a regular life and a not so regular life. In my regular life, I paid taxes, had the wife and kids and held an honorable job as a Peace Officer. The other life, that of a bodyguard, held unique perils of its own that only a select few outside of the industry could understand. These two opposing facets of my life headed for a collision course and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it.
Janet was aware of my life as Peace Officer and vaguely aware of my bodyguard gigs. I kept most of this part of my life a secret from her. She knew I was in the protect biz, but I could be in some shit hole, piss poor country and Janet wouldn’t have a clue as to where I was. A bag always sat at the ready, filled with the basics of what I would need for my next assignment.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” I thought to myself, she knew my life and how I lived it before we married. Why do women always try to change you? The worst part? I really needed those assignments. If I wasn’t hopping on a plane for God knows where, within about three months or so, I’d start to feel like a trapped animal looking to bite off its leg to be free. They helped me to maintain at least some semblance of sanity in my life. The down times I had while waiting for the next gig, were the periods our marriage suffered from the most and we fought often. Between my edginess and Janet’s tears, we both said things we regretted and wished we could take back. Words said in anger are like a pierce into the heart, they can never be taken back.
I loved the adrenaline rush that went with the job. There’s something to be said for a job well done, that you also enjoy. To know you are a part of something important, exciting and yes, extremely dangerous. So many things could go wrong on an Op and so much training and preparation went into them. I was good at my work and excelled at it. It seemed to be the only true constant in my sorry-ass excuse for a life. Jesus Christ, I ought a be locked up in a rubber room somewhere and the fuckin’ key thrown away, I thought in disgust.
I don’t know about ya’ll, but I hate fights before going to work. Our argument du jour was different from most. Janet found out about my involvement in a short-lived affair. Despite the initial fiery accusations, I continued to deny everything. She didn’t buy it and beat me down until I had no choice but to confess. My indiscretion had finally caught up with me. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you Janet!” I shouted. So loudly in fact, I thought the plaster might start to crack and fall on top of us. “God dammit, what am I supposed to do? You pull away from me every time I try to touch you!”
“Screw you and your warped sense of honor! How could you do this to me? You and your Knights of the Round Table go off saving the world, but when I need you, you find some excuse to run away and go do something or somebody!”
Thankfully, I was about ready to head out the door, because I hated to see a woman cry and cry she did. “I can’t deal with this shit right now Janet, I just can’t.”
Shaken out of my thoughts by a blaring horn, told me my light had changed green. Hitting the accelerator, I immediately chastised myself for being less than aware of my surroundings. That kinda shit will get ya killed, I told myself through gritted teeth. I shoved my favorite Clint Black CD into the player and cranked up the volume, forcing my thoughts into the background.
Pleased to finally reach the parking lot to the police station, I knew I could put my memories of the day behind me and focus on something else. Even if a few hours of relief were all I’d have, it would be better than nothing. Dealing with a gang-banger at that moment had more appeal than dealing with my wife.
With the evening briefing concluded, and our assignments given, it was time for me to go The Zoo. Affectionately named by the men and women who worked this sector, The Zoo deserved its nickname. Within those two square miles of Section 8 housing, all forms of the human animal lived there, and we were its keepers. Inside the invisible cages of this place, we had: single mothers struggling to make a living for their fatherless children, as well as whole families who were attempting to overcome their misfortunes to gain a better life for themselves. Whores, pimps, crack heads and gang members were the predators of our little corner of the world.