Just Doing Her Job

A story told through the eyes of a bodyguard guarding his hapless client

by Mongoose750 (mongoose750@yahoo.com)

My name is Fred Johnson, and I'm a bodyguard. After I served my country in Desert Storm and my tour of duty was finished in the United States Army, I wandered around for a while, wondering what to do next when I stumbled into the occupation of guarding people. Quite a change, going from protecting my country to protecting people. The big difference is the latter pays better and provides more fringe benefits, such as seeing more of the world, and meeting interesting people, and it has a little more excitement.

I'm a term bodyguard, which simply means I'm more of a freelance operative. I'll watch over my charge for a particular period of time until the crisis is over or the time on my contract is up, then I'm either up for an extension or I'm available for the next man or woman who needs protecting.

In the last few years I've guarded a variety of people, music stars, politicians, businessmen and women or some pampered person who either thinks the whole world is after them or who is the child of an overprotective mom and dad who don't want their kid "tainted" by the world. Boy the stories I could tell you about how these spoiled kids really live when their parents aren't looking. But that as they say is another story.

When you guard another person on a regular basis, you get to learn quite a bit about the person you're protecting by the way they treat you. I've worked for clients who would either treat me like their best friend, or "one of the gang," sometimes even going to the point of asking for my advice about things related to their position. Those are the best ones to work for, because they didn't make your job seem like a job; you almost felt like a part of the family. Other clients didn't go that far, but they treated me like a respected employee. They understood you had a job to do, and knew your job was for the purpose of their well-being. While not quite as cordial as the clients who treated you like family, it still was a pleasure to watch over them.

And then there's the final category, that I could do without. These were the clients who treated you like furniture, or worse, treated you like a personal slave. They would even go as far as ordering you to do menial tasks. That's when you have to remind them what you're there for. One time I foiled an assassination attempt for one client, and amazingly enough, the man had the nerve to forget about it the next day. He said to me that I would be nowhere without him. I replied that his remains would be in a closed casket ceremony at his family's chapel without me. As you could guess, he shut up and I didn't renew my contract with him.

I could spend all day discussing the clients I worked for, but I just want to talk about my previous one, which alone brings about an interesting tale. My client was some jerk by the name of Reed Weekly, and as you can guess by the way I described him, he fit into the third group of clients I've worked for. He was one of the mission chiefs or some high muckity-muck for an spy organization known as DOOM (the name is an anagram, but I forgot what the initials stood for). His job involved sending field agents to various missions to different parts of the world, particularly North and South America. Another way I heard it from other employees was he sent DOOM agents to their "doom." Lately his track record with the shortening life span of agents he sent out didn't make him a popular guy. On the contrary, I heard agents would go to other mission chiefs to ask to be assigned anywhere but where Mr. Weekly had in mind, even Siberia or one of the volatile Middle Eastern Countries. Me, I just did my job and didn't ask questions.

There were three mistakes I made when I signed a contract with this guy. The first one was not noticing his "charming" personality. If I was an agent, I'd asked to be reassigned too. Being a bodyguard under his employ involved being treated like an idiot some times, treated like a child at other times, and treated like a dog the rest of the time.

The second mistake was I failed to read the fine point on my contract. While DOOM paid well, they tended to have a zero tolerance for failure. When anyone, agent or hired help fail their mission, it is not taken well. There was a guy I knew who worked for them once as a bodyguard for one of their officers. The officer got taken out from a rival spy organization, and though the bodyguard survived the assassination, no one has ever heard from him again. I realized I practically filled out my death warrant. As well-liked as this man was, which wasn't very much, and everything else, planning a "plan B" so I could make it out alive if he got whacked, may not be a bad idea.

The third error I made was the most obvious one, the setup of the whole thing. DOOM was a big organization, so why did they hire outside help to protect one of their officers? Surely they have enough of their own muscle to watch him with, so why hire me? It didn't take long to realize I was stuck.

What made this man even less popular was he kept sending agents to Brazil. It appeared that whoever he sent to Brazil never came back. Agents started calling that region "the Brazilian Triangle," because so many agents "disappeared." From what I've heard, once upon a time, DOOM and a rival spy organization, COIL (I don't remember what those letters stand for either) were in that country, fighting it out for control of the place, until the Brazilian government had enough and asked them to leave and stay out. After being gone for a year or two, both organizations asked to come back. Brazil still said no. COIL agreed, however DOOM didn't take no for an answer. Brazil had said stay out or else. From the disappearance of their agents, it appeared that Brazil had stuck with their threat. That was about all I knew; as a general professional rule, I don't pay much attention to politics or try figuring out government secrets. I have better job security that way.

One day Mr. Weekly said to me to pack my bags, because we're flying to Brazil. Under normal circumstances I would've said great, but considering what this trip entailed, I found myself kicking myself for not filling out my will. Although I normally don't ask many questions with my clients, I asked Mr. Weekly why we were going. He was in such a good mood, he didn't consider my question an insult and answered that we were meeting with a deep cover operative (that's a fancy word for an undercover agent) who was a high government official there. We would meet him at his mansion and try to figure out what has happened to the missing agents. He had no plans of leaving the place once he got there, which helped ease my mind.

The trip there went without incident, and we met the government official at his mansion. It turns out he in turn had a fleet of bodyguards, so my job was made a little easier. His mansion was nice I guess, as mansions go; believe me, you see one mansion, you seen them all. What stood out to me with this one was he had a large aquarium with a large variety of fish in one of the rooms. Now I'm a traditional cat and dog man myself, but because of my job, I'm not able to have a pet; but there must be something about being a person in high status and owning an oversized fishbowl with exotic fish in it. After we've been there a while, and had a few meetings, my client wanted to go back to the aquarium and meditate for a little while. Naturally as part of my job, I tagged along. I also figured it would be more exciting to look at fish than to listen to two blowhards talk all day.

Normally, there is something peaceful about looking at fish, but it wasn't this time. In my profession, when something doesn't seem right for whatever reason, it's very important to be on your guard. Some would call it a "sixth sense," but I believe it's paying extra attention to your surroundings. It seems like paranoia, but noticing the differences around you could save the life of your client, not to mention your own.

The first time we looked at the aquarium, the fish were swimming around like they normally do. This time, the fish weren't swimming. They appeared to be hiding, like something suddenly disturbed them. Even my client, who's normally oblivious to everything, noticed it. It didn't bother him though, he focused his gaze on the surroundings elaborately placed in the aquarium, like you were actually looking at the ocean floor.

That was another thing that bothered me. Something seemed out of place, but I couldn't place what it was. I found myself looking closely at how everything was placed. Something stood out, but I couldn't find it. My client thought I took an sudden interest in exotic fish.

"Well Mr. Johnson, I didn't know you had an eye for fish," he said.

I started pushing Mr. Weekly toward the door, which happened to be closed.

"I think we better leave, Mr. Weekly," I said.

"Leave? Why, because the fish are missing? What is the meaning of this?" He protested. After I moved him a few yards away, he stood rigid, refusing to go anywhere.

A little note: when your bodyguard sees something you don't, it would make good sense to listen to him, especially if he's telling you your life is in danger. That's one of the first rules of being under a bodyguard's care, apparently my client didn't know that rule.

While I was trying to get him to safety, my eyes were still scanning the aquarium, looking for what didn't belong. From the angle of where I was, I saw it. The lights from the room glanced off something glass-like in the aquarium. Something like - goggles. I yelled at my client to leave immediately while at the same time I reached into my shoulder holster and drew my gun.

And that's when there was a flash, and the aquarium exploded.

Now I'm a rather big guy, 6'3", 250 pounds, but when several gallons of water hit you at once, I may as well have been a feather, because the onrushing water knocked me off my feet and slammed me against a wall. My client was out of harms way for the most part, standing far enough away, but the idiot didn't have the sense to open the door and run like anybody else. Somewhere in the mess of water, rocks, fish, and everything else you put in a large aquarium, my gun was separated from me. I tried to figure out where it was while telling my client to get out of the room when I saw something shoot out of the aquarium and land on their feet.

That something was a woman. She was a black lady, about 5'8", and from the way she was built, she was rather intimate with weights. By now she ripped off her goggles, revealing an oval face of medium brown skin. She had long black hair that was fitted into a pony tail hanging down her back. She was dressed in a long sleeve black leotard and black pantyhose.

Aside from the fact she was trying to kill my client, she was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

I got up to subdue her before she could do anything else, and she quickly replied with a side kick to the chest which knocked me back down in the water. She only had hose on her feet, but her foot felt like a brick when she kicked me. Wasting no time, she sprinted over to Mr. Weekly, who to his credit, quickly pulled out his revolver out his shoulder holster. However as quick as he was, the female assassin was quicker. With her left forearm she knocked my client's gun hand so he couldn't shoot her, then with her right hand delivered a chop to his right collarbone, breaking it.

My client fell to the water covered floor in pain, dropping his pistol in the process. I ran to where they were, but I knew there was no chance she would let me grab that gun, plus my own gun was somewhere with the flopping fishes. I would have to take this lady on in hand-to-hand combat.

I managed to snatch her in a bearhug, her facing me, and squeezed, trying to at least bring her to submission. I didn't manage to trap her arms when I did it though. Not appearing to be affected by the bearhug, she grabbed my head and tried to to twist it abruptly to break my neck. I moved my head just barely out of her grasp as she tried to twist. When that didn't work, she delivered an open palm blow to my face. Again, I moved my head just enough so her blow hit me below the eye. It hurt, but it beat the alternative where she was aiming it. If she hit my nose, she would've broke it and shoved the bones into my brain, killing me.

I dropped her, favoring my face, realizing it was too dangerous to hold her that close. She then "hugged" me, slamming her right knee into my ribs, then grabbed one of my arms, threw me over her shoulder in a judo throw, and kicked me in the face, stunning me for a moment.

At this time my client finally got the message. He managed to make it to his feet and stumbled toward the door. The woman grabbed him in a choke hold from behind, and held his left arm, his good one, so he couldn't fight back with it. She rammed him face first into a wall, and then started choking him. She kept cranking up the pressure and swinging him from side to side so he couldn't get a chance to counter her hold.

My client may be a jerk and one of my worst employers, but I was hired to protect him, and that was what I was going to try to do. Seeing what was happening, I was afraid my the time I reached them, it was too late.

"No!" I cried out. "Leave him alone!"

She looked over at me, then dropped Mr. Weekly, who landed on the floor wheezing and coughing to take care of me before she could finish her business. I surprised her by lunging at her; that is, I tried to surprise her. She surprised me by going low and using a leg sweep to take my legs out from under me. I landed back on the watery floor with a thud. As I landed, I saw the assassin walk back over to her target. She looked at him still wheezing, then took her hose covered foot and stomped down on his windpipe.

That was it. For the first time since I started this career, I lost a client. I wondered about the possible implications of what would happen next, maybe running for asylum someplace, etc. All this was running through my mind as I struggled to my knees. The normal pattern for assassins is after they finish their assignment, they head for the hills, leaving the scene to avoid possible risk and capture. When I looked up again, I painfully saw this was not the case.

The first sight I saw when I looked up was the sole of this woman's foot headed towards me in a flying side kick. I jerked my head to avoid the blow, but I wasn't too successful. The kick knocked me off my knees and sent me skidding along the floor. If she hit me right on target, she could've knocked my head off! There was no doubt I was dealing with a professional here, one who didn't plan on leaving any traces or any witnesses to note her presence.

She jumped on me, flipped me over on my stomach, then locked her arms around my neck in a judo choke, her body mainly planted on my shoulders to prevent me getting any leverage to counter her move. Like she did with my now former client, she slung my neck around like a dog with an old toy. While I was fighting for breath, I wondered why no one else noticed our struggle. Surely with a houseful of guards, at least one would have heard the sounds of the fight. Silence is an assassin's best friend, but the sound of the aquarium breaking alone should've raised some attention. It all became a moot point as I was losing air and I was starting to see spots before my eyes.

I finally managed to grab one of her arms and pull it away just enough to get a lungful of air. She replied by slamming my head against the floor and regaining her choke hold. Suddenly I heard some kind of commotion coming from outside the door. I felt the edge of her hand sharply strike my neck, and all went black.

When I came to, I was in a hospital bed, which was great, considering the alternative. Lying there, I realized the scope of my injuries. It's amazing what your body ignores when you're fighting for your life. I had a few busted ribs, a smashed cheekbone, a sprained knee, a concussion, and most of all, a sprained neck; obvious, since it was almost taken to the breaking point and hit on a few times. I also had a massive headache to boot.

"How are we feeling?"

Suddenly I turned my head and saw two women standing at the side of my bed. The first one was a tall blonde woman, almost as tall as I am, rather muscular looking, dressed in a black uniform. It looked like your typical para-military uniform, except the pants were cut mid-calf, and she was barefooted. The other woman beside her was the assassin I tangled with earlier, except this time she was dressed in a sleeveless black T-shirt and blue jeans. The only footwear she wore was a gold ankle bracelet. Seeing them at my bedside reminded me of what I instructed myself to do if I was ever in a situation like this.

"Okay, let's cut to the chase. I don't know any secret plans or special information regarding my client, so if you're going to finish me off, go ahead," I said. I think it would've sounded more convincing if I wasn't in pain.

The blonde woman laughed. "I only have one question for you, are you regular staff or are you freelance?"

"Huh?"

"Were you one of DOOM's standard bodyguards or do you contract out your protection?"

I saw no problem in answering that question. "Freelance," I said.

"I knew it," the black woman said.

"How did you know?" I asked, curious.

"You do not fight like a DOOM bodyguard," she said. "A DOOM bodyguard is heavily dependent on his gun. Without it, he's pretty useless."

"Besides, they're not going to waste valuable personnel on a suicide trip," the blonde said.

"A suicide trip?" I said.

"Since you were basically a hired hand with no ties to the organization, I can tell you this. As you may or may not know, there was a time where the two major spy organizations, DOOM and COIL were posted in Brazil with several headquarters and many agents. Both groups were trying to gain our favor. Well the war between the two grew so fierce, many innocent Brazilians caught in the middle were getting hurt. As a result, our government told both groups to leave our country and don't return. They can play their spy games anywhere they want, however they want, but not here."

"Yes, that's what I've heard."

"COIL was gracious enough to agree with our request and move out. DOOM however, was not so compliant. They even retaliated with threatening our government officials. We told them again to leave or accept the consequences. We've managed to arrest some who stayed behind, but for those who try to sneak into our country, taking care of them is a task for my barefoot assassins."

"Barefoot assassins?"

"Yes, a group of women I've trained for the purpose of eliminating DOOM agents. Our philosophy is the best weapon you can have is your own body. You can take it anywhere with you, and you can always "upgrade' it to make it even more lethal. Each barefoot assassin is a lethal weapon, trained to sneak into DOOM installations, encounter a DOOM agent, and take them out. We have a pretty high tally of agents that we've either killed, captured, or convinced them to work for us."

I felt my neck, "Yes, I can believe the "living weapon' deal; that one flying kick about knocked my head off," I said.

"Yes, Gail has killed many DOOM agents. You're actually the first one who took her on and lived," the blonde continued. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot my manners. My name is Bliss."

"Fred is my name. You have a nice name."

"Thank you. Many people find it hard to believe their parents would actually name their child that."

"That kick was designed to "knock your head off,' snapping your neck," Gail said. "You have good reflexes. If we were on an equal setting, you might be able to take me."

"I'd rather not find out anytime soon, I'm still sore from the love taps you gave me today."

"While you two were fighting, Gail figured you weren't DOOM's standard issue, and you may be of use to us," Bliss said. "From what I understand, DOOM doesn't tolerate failure, so you can't go back, even if you wanted to."

"I don't think I'd want to. What did you mean, a "suicide trip?'"

"Well like I just said, DOOM doesn't tolerate failure, and the man you were guarding was the one who have sent so many agents over here to meet their deaths. So, like the "responsible' people that DOOM are, they asked him to come down to Brazil to see what's going on, figuring he would meet his fate like the agents he assigned. And we were more than happy to oblige."

I started to feel sick. "So I was hired to guard a condemned man?" I asked.

"That is true," Bliss continued, "even though it wasn't necessarily his fault, they needed somebody to blame it on. And ask yourself this, have you ever wondered with all the manpower that DOOM has, why they hired a freelance bodyguard?"

Now I started to feel angry. "So I was just cannon fodder?"

"If you two made it back in one piece, that's great, if he made it and you didn't, you did your job, if you made it and he didn't, it was your fault, and if the both of you were wiped out, that was to be expected. They covered all the angles."

In my years of being a bodyguard, all my previous clients were at the very least decent to work for. I never had one to set me up like that.

"One question," I asked. "That man my client, er, former client went to see, he had an army of bodyguards, yet none of them went to see what was happening. What happened to them?"

"They were given a distraction," Gail said smugly. "A little something happened to one of our officials' fleet of cars, or maybe two or three. In either case, they made for a pretty big fire. The man was so worried it was one of his classic cars, he had all his hired help running to the garage to put the fire out. Getting in and out wasn't a problem after that. And no, it wasn't one of his classics, just a limo or two."

"We have long known that this man was a deep cover DOOM operative," Bliss said. "We decided to leave him in office until he's not of use to us anymore, and then we'll arrest him, or if it comes to it, Gail here will make a return visit."

I sighed. "So what happens to me now?"

Bliss grinned. "I believe you're now currently unemployed, correct?"

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"One of our politicians is in need of protection. A full-time bodyguard is I believe what he needs."

I'm always a little careful about working for politicians. "A politician, huh?"

"You'll be paid double what DOOM was charging you."

"I'll take it."

"Good. As soon as you recover from your injuries, you can start. We apologize you've been thrown in the middle of this, but at least it turned out well for you. We'll leave you now to recover in peace. Good day, Fred."

Bliss turned to leave, but Gail tapped her shoulder.

"I'll catch up with you in a minute, there's something I need to do," she said.

Bliss nodded and left. Gail walked closer to my bedside and looked at me.

"Uh, my trying to kill you and all, you understand it was my job, business, nothing personal, right?" She said.

"Yeah, perfectly understandable," I replied. She was doing her job after all. As a former soldier, I knew what she was talking about when it came to completing a mission.

"I'm glad I didn't kill you," Gail said, smiling, "you're kind of cute."

I couldn't help but blush a little. "Um, thank you."

She placed her right hand on mine. "After you're fully recovered and get set into your new job, please look me up. We can get together and get involved in some "nonlethal' activities, okay?"

"It's a deal."

"Then I'll see you later, Fred." She winked and walked away.

Things were definently looking up. After losing my previous client and almost my life, I end up with a better job, a better client, better pay, and a possible date with the prettiest assassin I've ever seen.

These days, my life has been fun. My new employer practically treats me like a new member of the family. Outside of the occasional rabble-rouser, there hasn't been any trouble. And with the pay I've been getting, I can't complain. Gail and I have been an item for quite a while now. Sometimes when we get together, we talk shop. It's kind of weird for shop talk, I talk about my bodyguard duties while she talks about the latest DOOM agent she whacked. As many agents as she killed, you'd figure they would be having a big recruitment drive soon. But as grisly as her duties sound, she's really a real sweetheart, and she does the things she does to serve her country. Plus she dances a mean samba.

I'm just glad I'm on her good side.

For any comments, questions, or story ideas, email the author at shrewsberry@juno.com.