fine with it because you always deliver. But when a Five Diamond criminal like Crow with a habit of killing hookers comes to me, concerned about you . . . Sweet fancy Moses, man, that should give you a moment of pause; maybe dry out for a spell?”
Complete disbelief from Remo. “That’s sweet, boss, but could you call the bodyguard before these animals eat my heart and make my corpse their girlfriend? Could I trouble you to make that fucking phone call?”
The elevator doors shut in his face in answer.
13
Remo sits in an Irish pub across from a stern-looking wall of a man. His new bodyguard. Goes by Seck. They sit in uncomfortable silence as the place moves on around them. Remo tries to break the ice with some banter. “So, you from New York ?”
“Yes.” Seck likes the ice where it is.
“I'm from Texas originally.” Remo receives a blank. “Little town you've probably never heard of.”
Nothing.
Remo’s working way too hard at this. “Tiny, tiny town.”
Seck finally responds. “Mr. Cobb—”
“Thank God. You do know how to speak.”
“Your firm is paying me to protect you. Keep you out of harm's way”
That’s the idea.
Seck, “Keep you alive?”
“At the minimum,” replies Remo.
“Right. That's what bodyguards do. We guard bodies. We are not escorts. This is not a date. If you're lonely, call somebody else. We understand each other?”
Remo smiles. “We’re gold.”
“Stupendous.”
Seck and Remo move their conversation out onto lower Broadway. The client and his new bodyguard pass around and through the masses on the streets of NYC.
“Now, what's the issue with regard to your personal safety?” Seck asks as he scans for predators, checking reflections in the passing store windows, always on the job.
Remo tries to explain. “Nutshell, there's a few people running around who would like to kill me.”
“Happens.”
“Yeah, well, not to me. I mean, sure, there are a ton of folks walking the earth who don't really care for me, but they don't want to kill me. Not in a realistic sort of way, right? I'm sure plenty have entertained the idea of me dead, though none have actually gone this far. But I have it from a reliable source there is a particularly high threat level. I’m pretty certain someone will try to take me out in the very near future.”
“Who's the source?”
“This dead Jesus-freak dude,” Remo responds, as matter of fact as he can. “Most guys find out they’re dying from a doctor who starts off the conversation with, ‘You’ve got a horrific disease.’ Me? I get the, ‘Agitated psychos are coming to kill you’ heads up from an ex-con neo-disciple of Christ who gets shot to shit while shoveling down fried rice— my fried rice, actually.”
“You don't need to worry, Mr. Cobb.”
“Well, come on. Need to worry a little. Who doesn’t worry when people are coming to kill them?”
Seck stops in the middle of the street and gives Remo a strong, reassuring look. “Mr. Cobb, I am the best at what I do.” Remo relaxes a bit, feeding off Seck’s calm and confidence. He enjoys the feeling of security, thinks about how he’s always taken that feeling—the feeling most people have pretty much all their lives that they are safe going about their day-to-day business—for granted. Until now. He lets that feeling sink in, allows it to take hold.
With a nerve-shattering crack, part of Seck's head explodes.
Remo’s new bodyguard wilts to the concrete, a decapitated flower. People scream while parting like the Red Sea . The street becomes a rippling wave of chaos. Remo ducks, fear tearing through every cell in his body.
No sign of the shooter anywhere, only people running for their lives. Remo rises to his feet, about the join the stampede, when he spots a man standing across the street. Stops dead.
Have I seen this guy before?
Maybe. Fuck, have I?
Remo can’t place him, but of course the last time Remo saw him
Complete disbelief from Remo. “That’s sweet, boss, but could you call the bodyguard before these animals eat my heart and make my corpse their girlfriend? Could I trouble you to make that fucking phone call?”
The elevator doors shut in his face in answer.
13
Remo sits in an Irish pub across from a stern-looking wall of a man. His new bodyguard. Goes by Seck. They sit in uncomfortable silence as the place moves on around them. Remo tries to break the ice with some banter. “So, you from New York ?”
“Yes.” Seck likes the ice where it is.
“I'm from Texas originally.” Remo receives a blank. “Little town you've probably never heard of.”
Nothing.
Remo’s working way too hard at this. “Tiny, tiny town.”
Seck finally responds. “Mr. Cobb—”
“Thank God. You do know how to speak.”
“Your firm is paying me to protect you. Keep you out of harm's way”
That’s the idea.
Seck, “Keep you alive?”
“At the minimum,” replies Remo.
“Right. That's what bodyguards do. We guard bodies. We are not escorts. This is not a date. If you're lonely, call somebody else. We understand each other?”
Remo smiles. “We’re gold.”
“Stupendous.”
Seck and Remo move their conversation out onto lower Broadway. The client and his new bodyguard pass around and through the masses on the streets of NYC.
“Now, what's the issue with regard to your personal safety?” Seck asks as he scans for predators, checking reflections in the passing store windows, always on the job.
Remo tries to explain. “Nutshell, there's a few people running around who would like to kill me.”
“Happens.”
“Yeah, well, not to me. I mean, sure, there are a ton of folks walking the earth who don't really care for me, but they don't want to kill me. Not in a realistic sort of way, right? I'm sure plenty have entertained the idea of me dead, though none have actually gone this far. But I have it from a reliable source there is a particularly high threat level. I’m pretty certain someone will try to take me out in the very near future.”
“Who's the source?”
“This dead Jesus-freak dude,” Remo responds, as matter of fact as he can. “Most guys find out they’re dying from a doctor who starts off the conversation with, ‘You’ve got a horrific disease.’ Me? I get the, ‘Agitated psychos are coming to kill you’ heads up from an ex-con neo-disciple of Christ who gets shot to shit while shoveling down fried rice— my fried rice, actually.”
“You don't need to worry, Mr. Cobb.”
“Well, come on. Need to worry a little. Who doesn’t worry when people are coming to kill them?”
Seck stops in the middle of the street and gives Remo a strong, reassuring look. “Mr. Cobb, I am the best at what I do.” Remo relaxes a bit, feeding off Seck’s calm and confidence. He enjoys the feeling of security, thinks about how he’s always taken that feeling—the feeling most people have pretty much all their lives that they are safe going about their day-to-day business—for granted. Until now. He lets that feeling sink in, allows it to take hold.
With a nerve-shattering crack, part of Seck's head explodes.
Remo’s new bodyguard wilts to the concrete, a decapitated flower. People scream while parting like the Red Sea . The street becomes a rippling wave of chaos. Remo ducks, fear tearing through every cell in his body.
No sign of the shooter anywhere, only people running for their lives. Remo rises to his feet, about the join the stampede, when he spots a man standing across the street. Stops dead.
Have I seen this guy before?
Maybe. Fuck, have I?
Remo can’t place him, but of course the last time Remo saw him
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