Bodyguard: Target (25 page)

Many pop idols inspire devotion
from their fans, but the followers of teen sensation Ash Wild take their duties
to the max. When the English rock star was allegedly attacked by Miami resident
Carlos Sanchez, 16, following a sell-out gig, a mystery blonde stepped to his
defence.

Emma Hills, 15, saw the whole
incident. ‘The girl came out of nowhere. She was like a ninja. Before you
knew it, the boy was on the ground, crying about his nose being
broken.’

Carlos Sanchez
insists,
‘I was the victim of a misunderstanding. The girl just lashed out at
me.’

But several eyewitnesses
state that Carlos threw the first punch. According to Kelly Jackson, 14,
‘He was jealous that his girlfriend had been on stage with Ash and the
idiot thought he was making a move on her. He went to punch Ash, but this girl
stopped him. Never mess with a
Wildling, that’s what I say!’

The
blonde who’d come to Ash’s rescue was seen disappearing into a
vehicle with the grateful rock star. CelebrityStarz.net has attempted to contact
Ash Wild’s management about the incident, but they’ve so far
declined to comment.

Who is the mysterious Wild Cat?
And will she make another appearance?

A picture of Charley in
mid-strike
accompanied the feature. It didn’t show her face completely, her hair getting
in the way, but it did illustrate the devastating impact of her palm strike. The
boy’s head was rocked back like a PEZ sweet dispenser, with blood flying from
his nose. The surrounding witnesses all wore stunned expressions, in particular Ash,
who was staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment.

More pictures and amateur video clips
capturing the moment followed the article posted on the celebrity news site. The
internet was literally exploding with the story and #WildCat was topping the social
media trends. Charley couldn’t have drawn any more attention to herself if
she’d tried.

As she sat alone in the rear lounge of
the tour bus on its way towards their next
destination, her phone rang.

‘Charley, it’s Colonel
Black,’ spoke the terse voice.

She closed her eyes and braced herself
for the reprimand. ‘You’ve seen the coverage then?’

‘Hard not to miss,’ said the
colonel. ‘You’ve done exactly what Steve warned you
not
to
– get your face splashed all across the tabloid news! Need I remind you that
any
self-defence must be
necessary, reasonable and
proportional? That boy could have you arrested for assault.’

‘But he attacked first,’
protested Charley.

‘That may be the case. But
there’s a fine line between acting in self-defence and breaking the law. What
is deemed “reasonable” in the eyes of the law is a matter of opinion.
You must be seen to use the
minimum
force necessary. Busting a
guy’s
nose with a palm strike is not the most subtle response.’

‘At least I didn’t
punch
him,’ she responded tartly.

‘I appreciate that you did what
you considered necessary to protect Ash, but your actions have not only reflected
badly on his public image, they’ve threatened to expose the whole Buddyguard
organization. In future, I expect your responses to be
low
profile.’

‘Yes, Colonel,’ she muttered
before signing off.

Charley put down the phone and held her
head in her hands. She couldn’t believe the colonel’s reaction. What was
she supposed to have done – sweet-talk the guy?

‘Hey, Charley, don’t sweat
it,’ said Big T, lumbering into the lounge. ‘The colonel wasn’t in
your shoes at the time. He didn’t have to make
the snap decision that you did.
Besides, the boy isn’t pressing charges. Too many witnesses saw him strike
first. And he’s too ashamed to admit a girl decked him!’

Charley sighed. ‘But I’ve
blown my cover.’

‘No, you haven’t. Everyone
thinks you’re just a fan. But you did step up to the plate. And that’s
what counts. I despise people who talk the talk, then bottle out
when the
time comes. You learn who’s who in your own journey of
life. And you’re the real deal.’

Charley was surprised and heartened by
his support. ‘But the colonel’s right,’ she admitted. ‘I
should have put him in an armlock, stunned him, anything but hit him in the face in
front of the press.’

‘You reacted on instinct. There
wasn’t time to think. If you had, Ash
would have suffered a painful and
embarrassing attack – one that could have damaged his rock-star looks
permanently. That would have been a lot worse for his public image.’

Big T pulled back the sleeve of his
T-shirt and flexed the massive bicep of his right arm. A tattoo of a cruise missile
bulged on his weathered skin. The words
DANGER: WEAPON OF
MASS DESTRUCTION
were
etched inside the body of the missile.

‘In my days as a bouncer, my right
hook ended many arguments,’ he explained. ‘At one stage, this arm was so
legendary people called it TNT. I only ever needed to land one punch in a
fight.’

He unflexed his arm and rolled down the
sleeve.

‘But, over the years of facing
violence, I’ve learnt that size means nothing and that your
voice is the
greatest weapon. It can control a situation, it can calm a person down or it can
incite a riot. You can throw an opponent off-guard by speaking softly. Your voice
can charm and persuade, threaten or placate. It’s the solution to most
problems we face as bodyguards. Only bring out the big guns as a last resort
–’ he cracked a smile – ‘like you did.’

‘They’re still following
us!’ said Charley as their blacked-out SUV raced through the streets of
downtown New Orleans. They’d barely made it to their vehicle following the
packed-out concert
at the Superdome. Some eighty-five thousand fans had crammed in
to see Ash perform and seemingly almost as many had waited to catch a glimpse of him
leaving with the now-infamous ‘Wild Cat’.

‘Can’t you go any
faster?’ asked Ash, peering through the rear window at the eleven cars, three
scooters and two motorbikes that pursued them.

‘I have to obey the speed
limit,’
replied Shane, their driver, gritting his teeth in concentration.

‘
They’re
not!’

From the front passenger seat, Big T
eyed their pursuers in the wing mirror. ‘Paparazzi pay no regard to road
rules.’

As if to confirm this, a rented SUV sped
up the wrong side of the street as the cameraman jockeyed with the other pap
vehicles for the best position. A car coming the
opposite way blared its horn and
the cameraman swerved at the last second to avoid a head-on collision.

‘Isn’t
this how Princess Diana died?’ exclaimed Ash, clinging to his seat as their
SUV rounded a corner at speed.

‘Buckle up and you’ll be
fine,’ Big T told him.

Behind, the paparazzi motorcade
scrambled to follow them – overtaking and undertaking, speeding and
blocking
one another, taking whatever steps would keep them close.

Coming to a stop at a junction, their
SUV was swamped by vehicles and was almost boxed in. Photographers leant out of
their windows and filmed and photographed whatever they could. The lights changed.
Shane forced his way through the blockade and the chase resumed.

Ash sighed. ‘Don’t they ever
give up?’

‘They’re like
vampires,’ grunted Big T. ‘Whatever they get is never enough.’

Their SUV passed through a junction just
as the traffic lights turned red. Behind them car horns blared and there was a
screeching of tyres. As the convoy of paparazzi ran the red light, two vehicles
collided, blocking the junction.

Charley had never experienced anything
like it. The chase
was straight out of a Hollywood movie, except that real lives
were at stake. And all for a sordid celebrity photo!

Turning on to the freeway, Shane was
able to put his foot down on the accelerator at last. He weaved in between the
traffic, trying to put some distance between them and the relentless shutterbugs.
But it was futile. Without breaking the speed limit and risking
the lives of his
passengers, Shane was limited in what he could do to shake off their pursuers.

At the last possible moment, he took the
off-ramp to
their hotel. Three vehicles on the outside lane
were too late to make the exit, but the remainder of the unwanted motorcade
funnelled down the ramp and back into the city.

As they neared their hotel, a motorbike
came up
alongside, the rider brandishing a camera. Hardly looking where he was
going, he pressed the lens to the front windscreen and ran it on full auto. The
multiple flashes lit up the darkened interior of the car like a magnesium flare.

The driver instinctively held up his arm
to shield his eyes, but he was already blinded by the glare. He swerved, hit the
kerb, bounced back into
the road, then veered off.

Big T had just enough time to shout,
‘Brace yours–’, before the SUV hit a lamp post. Ash and Charley
were flung forward, their seat belts jerking them to a violent stop. The airbags in
the front saved the driver and Big T.

For a moment just the hiss of the
SUV’s radiator could be heard. Then Big T broke the silence: ‘Everyone
all right?’

Charley’s heart was pounding hard,
her hands trembling. She felt bruising where the belt had dug into her ribs and it
hurt to breathe, but she didn’t think anything was broken. She gave Big T a
thumbs up, then looked over at Ash. He appeared dazed and blood was running from a
cut above his left eye.

‘You OK?’ she asked.

Ash met her gaze and nodded. She quickly
inspected
the cut. It was superficial, caused by a glancing blow to the side window.
She noticed some bruising, indicating a chance of concussion, but Ash’s eyes
were focused and he seemed only to be in shock.

Through the
windscreen, Charley spotted the helmeted motorcyclist responsible for their crash.
To her disgust, he took several photos of their disabled SUV before racing away from
the scene. Around them, the other paparazzi discarded their vehicles on the roadway
and swooped like vultures on the accident.

‘Shane, you stick with the car
until the cops turn up,’ ordered Big T. ‘Charley and I will get Ash to
the hotel.’

As the three of them emerged from the
wrecked SUV, they were assaulted by a hailstorm of camera flashes.

‘Ash, you’re hurt!’
cried one photographer, not with concern but glee at the chance to get a dramatic
shot. He shoved the camera in Ash’s face to snap away at the blood seeping
from his cut.

‘Who was driving?’ another
shutterbug asked. ‘Are you responsible, Big T? Or Wild Cat here?’

Big T pushed through the ring of
cameramen, brushing them firmly aside. He kept an arm round Ash, ensuring
his charge
remained steady on his feet.

‘Ash, I thought Wild Cat was your
bodyguard now?’ teased a pap.

Big T scowled at the man and pushed him
from their path.

‘Ooh, touchy!’ taunted the
pap. ‘Worried you’ll be out of a job? You’re pretty old for this
game, aren’t you?’

Big T turned sharply on the man.
‘Want to meet my
old
fist?’

Surprised to see her
mentor losing his
cool, Charley urged the veteran bodyguard on. ‘Ignore the idiot,’ she
hissed. Taking Ash’s arm, she helped escort the dazed
rock star towards the hotel entrance.

Gonzo suddenly appeared amid the pack,
eyes gleaming. ‘Does she hold your hand at night too, Ash?’ he goaded
with a lewd grin.

Charley had wondered where the
despicable rat had been all this
time. The taunts wouldn’t have been the same
without him. Ignoring the loaded question, she headed for the sanctuary of the hotel
with Ash and Big T. Cameras continued to hose them down with flashes as they were
heckled every step of the way. Charley found it hard not to respond to the offensive
and suggestive comments, but she knew that any answer she gave would only stir them
up more.

Bundling Ash through the hotel doors,
they left the hungry shutterbugs in the street. Cameras flashed through the glass
and their taunts, though muffled, could still be heard.

Charley glanced back at the mob of
photographers. How was she expected to keep a low profile now?