Personal Protection (7 page)

“It all looked very painful,” she said doubtfully, relieving me of my towel to rub my back dry before I got into a fresh T-shirt.

“Not as much as you’d think. It hurts the guy smacking the Kevlar more than me.”

“What’s next?”

“Now I get to fight back.”

“I like the sound of that much better.”

I grinned. “Don’t be so sure. He won’t just stand still and let me hit him.”

“I knew there had to be a catch.”

“Always.” I kissed her and strapped the Kevlar back on.

“Isn’t that an unfair advantage?” she asked as we walked through to the next room.

“Only if the other guy isn’t wearing any.”

They all were and they were all men. About a dozen or so had already collected in the room; a few other stragglers drifted in behind me, falling into conversation about techniques, shadow-boxing
with themselves, half-heartedly sparring or checking out one another’s moves.

“Brought some fresh flesh this week?”

I gave the speaker what Dean calls The Look.

“She’s my Principal.” Tori, to her credit, did no more than blink.

“You know the rules, no one but fighters,” someone else complained.

“I have nowhere else to stash her. Where could be safer than a room full of bouncers and bodyguards? She’ll keep clear.”

I settled her against a wall, on one of those plastic and stainless steel stacker chairs you see everywhere from village hall meetings to doctors’ waiting rooms, amid a chorus of
complaints and cat calls. And one moan that he’d planned to use the chair to hit his opponent with. I ignored them all.

“Does that mean I’m your client?”

“Yes, unless you want to fight one of these idiots.”

“No! I sort of like the idea of being your client.” She touched my face. I swallowed hard and firmly put her hand back into her lap. “What? There’s a no touching
rule?”

“In a way. It is considered very unprofessional to get involved with your Principal.”

“What if you were already involved before they became your client?”

“Doesn’t happen. You’d be advised to get someone uninvolved to guard you.”

“Why?”

“Too close to the situation. An involved bodyguard might overreact.” As I had last night.

Someone yelled my name. “Be right there!” I called back. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Of course. I thought I knew what you did, but I’m beginning to see that I knew very little. Be careful, please?”

“For you.”

I went to join the others.

“McGonnigal, you’ve drawn Spink.”

Leon Spink is a huge black guy. He was beginning to build a gut, which meant he was less in demand for clients that require running around, but more for those that require standing around
looking impressive as part of the job description.

There isn’t any particular enmity between us; let’s just say that he’s not a big believer in women as bodyguards. He gave me this tombstone grin, pearly white perfect teeth in
the ebony of his face, cracked his knuckles and said, “I’m going to enjoy this.”

I knew I wouldn’t. But Tori’s presence meant I was going to make a damn good showing. Nobody was going to wipe the floor with me in front of my girlfriend, I promised myself
that.

Everyone paired off and began the circling and talking to psyche out their opponents.

“I’m going to show you why women shouldn’t be in Personal Protection, little girl.”

The mammoth body began a lumbering run towards me. His arms spread wide to gather me into a bear hug that would bruise ribs even through the Kevlar and break any limbs that got in his way. There
was nowhere I could run without looking like a coward, and precious few spots on his body that were not protected by something. He had no neck to speak of; his arms and legs were rolls of fat and
muscle; he wore a box to protect his cock and balls; and the Kevlar vest sandwiched his torso.

As the inexorable juggernaut barrelled towards me, I did the only thing I could think of. At the last moment I dropped into a squat, then lashed out with a foot to his right kneecap.

A sickening snapping noise stilled all movement in the gym. Leon Spink shrieked, lurched, then fell backwards, crashing to the floor. I stood. As quickly as that it was all over.

All bodyguards know elementary medicine. Nobody needed to examine Spink to know I’d broken his patella. He’d be out of action, and work, for some time. With the weight he was
carrying, he might never be free of pain, even if I hadn’t permanently weakened him. I didn’t like what I’d been forced to do, but what choice had there been? He wouldn’t
have stopped till he’d proved his point and I couldn’t afford to be hospitalised, now of all times. I’d acted out of instinct and self-preservation. It was what I was trained
for.

The real medic we had on hand immobilised his leg and called for an ambulance. Since I’d been responsible I got changed, then sat with him till it arrived. Tori stayed in the background on
her chair. Spink did his fair share of cursing and moaning about his fate to the air, then addressed me directly.

“You’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“Been lookin’ for an excuse to get out. My old lady thought it was time to move on. Looks like you’ve given me what she wanted.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. It was sort of a backhanded compliment.

“Someone will need to take my place till they can find a replacement in my current job. I’ll phone and recommend you.”

“Leon, I can’t…”

His laughter interrupted me. “Sure you can. It won’t interfere with your client. Might even be helpful to you. I’m bouncin’. At your lady friend’s club.”

I was so carried away with this gift from the gods which had fallen so conveniently into my lap that I didn’t notice how quiet Tori was until we reached my apartment.

“So that’s what you do,” she said quietly as I turned off the engine. “You hurt people.”

“I protect people.”

“That wasn’t how it looked to me.”

“Would you have preferred I just let him wipe the floor with me? He would have.”

“Of course not, but…”

“There are no buts, Tori. I do what I have to, we all do. It’s my job.”

She turned her face away, looked out of the window.

“I’d never hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

She was quiet for much too long.

“Tori?”

She let herself out of the car. I scrambled to follow.

“Tori, you don’t think..?”

She turned at the door to confront me. “I don’t know what to think. It’s not what I expected. You’re not what I expected. I know you sometimes carry a gun, that
you’ve promised to get whoever was responsible for what happened to me. But you didn’t think. You just did it. You didn’t know that man beyond casual acquaintance, but
you’re not even sorry. I’m not sure I want anything to do with that level of violence!”

I didn’t know what to say.

I’ve been through this scene too many times. It always ends the same, with me alone. I didn’t want to lose Tori, but I can’t change what I am. I don’t know how to do
anything else. Even if I stopped, the training would always be there, waiting, like a sleeping tiger.

I hadn’t intended to show off or frighten her. Just get the frustration out of my system. Show her she was safe, that I could protect her as well as any man.

“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

“No. You wouldn’t mean it and you still wouldn’t feel remorse. You’ve just spent the entire journey gloating over your triumph. That that man’s injury has opened up
the possibility for you to solve the case and win a battle against injustice.”

“I wasn’t gloating! And what’s so wrong with wanting to solve the crime? It’s your injustice, Tori. A chance to…”

She sighed. “You’d feel just the same if it was some nameless, faceless client.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’d have no personal stake in that.”

“Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel more strongly about exorcising your frustration than about how I feel?”

“Yes!”

She didn’t look convinced. I tried again.

“I’ve never experienced what you have – I can only imagine the pain and terror you went through. My sympathy with your feelings is more important than making myself feel
better.” I took her hands and looked into her eyes, tried to communicate that to her by touch if she couldn’t see it in my face. “You’re important to me. More important than
getting the culprit. More important than my inadequacy. More important than my frustration.”

“And if I asked you to stop, not to go after them?”

“Is that really want you want?”

“Just answer the question, Randall.”

“Two days ago you asked me if I’d kill them for you!”

“Would you stop?”

I hesitated too long, and she knew me too well. She let go of my hands and stepped away. “Justice means more to you than people, Randall. Getting the villain means more to you than to me.
You’ve got the bit between your teeth. You won’t let go.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to lose you. Help me understand, Tori.”

“I’m not sure you can. I’d like you to call me a cab. I’d like to go home now.”

“You can’t! Your flat is...”

“I’ll live with it.”

“It isn’t safe!”

“Neither are you!”

“Please don’t go.”

She looked at me sadly, then came forward and touched my face.

Over her shoulder I saw Cecily in the doorway enjoying our little drama. Then Tori was speaking. Her voice was quiet, her words soft. I almost missed them over the pounding of my heart and the
voice screaming in my head, ‘You’re losing her.’

“That afternoon I spoke in anger, in fear, I was terrified, abused, I didn’t know what I was saying. When I asked you if you’d kill them for me I meant it. Then. I don’t
mean it now. I want to put it behind me and forget. I don’t want everybody to know. I don’t want people pointing the finger saying, ‘There goes the rape victim.’ I want to
be known for what I can do, what I am, not what somebody tried to make me. I don’t want to be the cause of more violence. I want to get on with living my life, forget about what happened, be
a dancer, be happy, make lots of money and have you love me.”

“You still want me?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard right.

“Yes. I want you. I just don’t want to be part of your world. The violence scares me. I can’t stop you doing this. Just don’t make it your life’s work. I
don’t want you to hunt down this deviant to the exclusion of everything else. I want a romantic relationship with you, not a client/bodyguard relationship.”

“Don’t you think you’re worth fighting for?”

“Not in the way you mean.”

Cecily chose that moment to interrupt. From where she was standing I suppose she couldn’t tell the crisis was over.

“Lovers’ spat?”

Tori’s expression switched from aroused to ugly. She lunged for the door. Whatever Cecily saw in her face made her back off so fast she slammed into the wall in her hurry to get inside. I
grabbed my lover and swung her into a tight embrace.

“Whoa! What happened to not wanting to be a part of my world because the violence scares you? That’s quite a U-turn there, babe.”

“I…” She blushed furiously with embarrassment. “After what you told me last night I just… Oh, hell. This is how you feel, isn’t it?”

I didn’t need to say anything, and I wasn’t going to rub it in.

“You’ve got that ‘I want to fuck you senseless’ look on your face.”

“I have?” I asked, ingenuously.

She sighed. But she looked pleased. I kissed her, she tried to hold back for form’s sake, but eventually she had to return the kiss. I put my arms around her. Her hands slipped under my
battered jacket and started stroking my ribs. I steered her towards the door.

“I suppose that means I won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

“God, I hope not,” I breathed into her ear.

“I always forget how hot you look in a tux. Until I see you in one again. Promise me you’ll leave it on when we get home? I’ve always wanted to fuck somebody
wearing a tux.”

How the hell was I going to concentrate on the job if she kept saying things like this? I was going to have to start carrying spare underwear about too, if she didn’t keep her hands to
herself when I was driving.

She gave a delightfully ribald laugh then left me alone to try and gather my scattered wits and get us to her club in one piece.

Lap dancing is a growth industry. Since Peter Stringfellow converted Stringfellow’s night-club in London into a lap dancing bar they’ve been springing up like wildfire.

After initial protests had died away, this place was fast to follow. In a town that gets much of its revenue from tourists, anything which will bring in more punters gets first priority for
development. Sun, sea, sand and silly hats, a trip to the Tower, the Sea Life Centre to see the sharks, Madame Tussaud’s to see the waxworks, the Pleasure Beach to ride The Big One and
doughnuts on the Prom with the kids by day. A nice meal in one of the restaurants in the evening and a walk through the Illuminations, if it’s the right time of year. Then while a sitter
watches the kids, a couple of jars in the nearest watering hole and a boogie at a night-club. Then round off the night by slipping away from the dozing wife to a lap dancing club to watch pretty
girls get their kits off. What more could anyone ask?

Not including the sole male lap dancing venue, there were, at last count, five clubs. All of them were former night-spots, some in the quieter South Shore area, one on the Promenade itself, and
some right in the town centre. They range from places businessmen are not afraid to be seen to the downright seedy.

Tori’s place of business is unimaginatively called the Bird Of Paradise. One of the upmarket places, it can be found up a side street between a hairdresser and a furniture shop on the
fringe of the town centre. It’s not a million miles away from our office – another bone of contention between Dean and me. He thinks such places lower the tone.

Because this is a lap dancing club, nobody under twenty-one gets through the door – they check ID – and usually only members, unless they know you, or the business you belong to.
Though of course there are plenty of short term memberships available to the tourists, which was going to make my job harder. Everyone has to sign in, whether they’re members or not. The
security protocols might sound stringent, but they have to think about the licence and protecting the girls. And it’s most definitely in that order.