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Eleven Madison West meant I pulled out one of my Havenstone suits. They were tailored after all and I suspected that getting into this place at this time of night was going to take some charisma and finagling. Dressing as causal-me wouldn't do. When I stepped out, jaws dropped ~ I do look good all gussied up. Odette dispelled the shock by jumping into my arms.
"You look hot," she squealed. "Too bad I'm not going out with you."
"You might want to remember that," Anais griped.
"We need to stop by Havenstone so I can attempt to dress up for this affair," Juanita stated.
"How about we call in a replacement? Give you the night off?" I suggested.
"Who?"
"Chaz?"
"You want that British SSR non-commissioned officer to be your personal bodyguard for tonight? You've got balls," Juanita coughed. I took out my phone and got ready to give him a call.
"Hey, Anais, why didn't you call me to tell me you were coming over?" I carefully avoided the word 'warned' as she would take that the wrong way.
"I don't have your personal phone number. I called your home phone and got the answering service -- last night and again this morning," she narrowed her eyes.
"Odette, did Timothy get lucky last night?" I looked past the Mountie.
"No. A good friend of his rolled his motorcycle and he went to the hospital to help him out," Odette shook her head. Poor Timothy. My roomie/fuck-buddy misinterpreted Anais's pique. "Timothy is gay, not a sexual enabler."
"Huh?" Juanita wondered.
"Wingman," I translated. "Sometimes the three of us go to gay clubs where I act as his wingman ..."
"And they feed me to lesbians," Odette sounded enthusiastic. Thanks to me she was hardly a same-sex virgin.
"If there are three people living here and two bedrooms, who sleeps on the sofa?" Anais skewered Odette with her eyes.
"If Cáel has company and isn't sharing, I sleep with Timothy," Odette refused to wilt -- or cut me some slack with Anais.
"Isn't sharing?" those ocular death orbs flicked my way.
"Hmmm ... if we are going to Elven Madison West, I had better make that call," I evaded. I rang Chaz.
"Nyilas," he answered. "How are you doing this evening?"
"I'm good. I have an ex-girlfriend from out of town visiting, she wants to go to a swanky place and Juanita isn't dressed for the detail so ..."
"You want me to double date?"
"Noooo ... I need a bodyguard."
"You are assuming I have something appropriate to wear."
"You are British!" I protested. "Even your chicks have tuxedos."
"Very well. Will this be a personal protection detail, or close support?"
"Aahhh ..."
"Close support," said Anais.
"Personal Protection," countered Juanita.
"The one most likely to save me from being stabbed with a steak knife," I muttered.
"I am not going to physically attack you," Anais simmered. Yeah -- right -- I had heard that one before, and not just from her.
"Personal Protection it is," Chaz informed me.
"Oh, and she's a Mountie."
"Is she armed?"
"No," I thanked the goddesses.
"Does she want to be?"
"Huh? Are you going to arm her?" I panicked.
"No. You have a NYPD liaison. Give Officer Kutuzov a call and make a formal request. If she is a law enforcement officer in good standing, it shouldn't be a problem."
"Oh ... I can do that? ... I'm not sure that's the best idea," I prevaricated.
"Man up, Nyilas," he chided me. "You should work on making it so women don't want to shoot you instead of thinking of ways to disarm them."
"Spoken like a man who wisely prefers the company of other men," I grumbled.
"Good use of the word 'wisely'. Next question: what are we using as a means of conveyance?"
"Ummm ..."
"I have my motorcycle," Anais was less than helpful.
"If you weren't one of the bravest human beings I'd ever met, I would determine at this moment that you are a dolt. Call Havenstone and arrange for one of those Mercedes Armored GL550s. Bring your license. I drive on the correct side of the road and I'm not keen on having a distraught paramour driving into a storefront at 80 kph."
"Man, I like the way you speak," I joked.
"I took advantage of a proper English education."
"I was joking with you."
"I know."
"Can I date your sister?" I didn't know if he had a sister, but he'd hinted there were multiple Tomorrow's out there. Anais' mood didn't improve.
"Yes. I like you. You are a good bloke."
"Does your sister know how to kill people?"
"Yes. I'd say she's relatively proficient with a variety of small arms and hand-to-hand techniques," he enlightened me.
"Just checking."
"Cáel, every woman you are interested knows how to kill people, or how to have people killed," Chaz reminded me.
"What about Odette? She's neither well connected nor lethal."
"Odette is indeed an enigma. She counters that by being well liked by people who are capable of killing others who hurt her, except where you are concerned. You live a treasured life."
"Have you made dinner reservations? If you need me for a black tie event it has to be ... what is the American for it ... swanky."
"That's more of a Cael/Pamela thing," I corrected him. "American's say 'high class', expensive, or 'hot spot'."
"Thanks for the update. Make those calls."
"O-kay. Will do. I'll meet you at Havenstone in thirty minutes. Does that work for you?"
"Yes. Make those calls. I'll see you at ... 7:52 pm, EDT. Mark."
"Huh?"
"Goodbye Cáel," and he hung up.
"Who is this 'Chaz' character?" Anais questioned me.
"He is Colour Sergeant Charles Tomorrow of the British Army's Special Reconnaissance Regiment, he's a badass and he's delicious," Odette answered for me.
"How do you know him -- either of you?" came next.
"He was with ..." Odette began blabbing 'National Security' stuff.
"Odette -- don't. Anais, he is member of the Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce along with me. Odette helps out in an auxiliary role," I answered.
"Cáel, how did you end up doing this kind of work?" she was perplexed. "You were devoid of anything approaching civic responsibility when we were last together. Quite frankly, I didn't think you cared for anyone but yourself."
"Hey now," Odette got feisty. She was my friend after all.
"We can talk about that over dinner?" I suggested. She didn't like that answer, so I lied. "I grew up," which was what she wanted to hear. I was spared any more interrogation at the moment by the necessity of making those three phone calls. Nikita liked hearing from me again, though she was less pleased that it was official business. She did agree to contact the appropriate agency for me, despite me making it for a different female law enforcement agent.
I'd wised up about Havenstone. I called Executive services to have the car delivered to my door step. I cautioned the operative that, in my neighborhood, they might be stopped on suspicion of purchasing guns, drugs, and/or a good time. I would have the car in fifteen minutes and agreed to take the delivery driver back to work afterwards. I'd have done it even if I wasn't meeting Chaz.
At Eleven Madison West, I got a snooty 'exactly who do you think you are?' followed by 'you will be placed on the waiting list ... a spot may open up around 9:50'. Was I going to inform Chaz and Anais of this? Of course not. I planned to beg like a big dog, suggest that while I was a nameless face, I actually knew people ... a person ... and we'd see how far that got me.
While waiting for the SUV to arrive and on the drive back to Havenstone, this is pretty much what followed:
"Do you know who was behind your father's murder yet?"
"Yes, but I can't talk about it."
"Was that the reason people are trying to kill you?"
"Yes. That and other reasons."
"What other reasons?"
"Things I can't talk about."
"Why can't you talk about it?"
"Secret society stuff ~ decoder rings, secret handshakes, writing in cyphers, holding clandestine meetings in public places after dark, and various other things world governments don't want me talking about."
"Are you pulling my leg?" I wished I was running my hands over her legs. This wasn't the time for that revelation.
"No. Most of what I am telling you is the truth."
"Were you in a shootout at the Chicago Medical Examiner's morgue?"
"Yes. I was unarmed at the time."
"Was your life in danger?"
"It depends on what you mean by 'danger'. My allies had guns and were expert shots. I was shot at, but they missed me, so I not sure how much my life was at risk."
"Can you please be serious?"
"I'm trying. You scare me."
"You don't need to be afraid of me. I only want to help." That was mostly true. She was a diligent, hard-working incorruptible public servant ...well, as long as you overlooked her charging me with bestiality when she was truly pissed with me.
"I'm not afraid of you hurting me. I'm afraid for you. You are an excellent peace officer and I'm worried that you will learn too much. Then your life will be as screwed up as mine."
"I can take care of myself."
"The reality that you are going out with me unarmed speaks volumes about what you don't know, Anais."
"Don't think this line of questioning is over, Cáel."
"Don't worry. I know you are not done."
"Very well. How is your aunt?" The crab-fisherwoman, not the Irish menagerie.
"Happy as a clam, working a real job and living life on her own terms."
"Where did you go wrong?" That was a loaded question. I had to tread carefully.
"A girl humiliated me in high school. I decided to take control of my life and somehow, despite my best intentions to be an unreliable lothario, I've ended up with people closer to me than family ...and this constant need for physical protection."
"Why are you engaged?" Finally, the REAL reason she was here. Had she come by to pick up her accoutrements, she would have been gone by the time I came home. She wanted answers -- answers that allowed her to be in charge of our relationship again. It was the double-barreled impact of exceptional sex and wondering why she wasn't 'the one'.
(Me) "Are you seeing somebody?"
"You didn't answer my question."
"I've answered plenty of your questions. Answer mine."
"No. Men expect too much from a career woman." Translation: 'I'm a bitch that, regardless of my dynamite looks and raunchy sex drive, repels men because I'm a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.'
"You do put your career first." Translation: 'I've totally forgotten that you are a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.' It was what she wanted to hear.
"Your turn."
"Put on your tin-foil hat. I did it to save lives in Central Asia when the anthrax strikes were going on. I have this friend over there that people listen to."
"Who? The Great Khan?"
I didn't respond which wasn't the answer she was expecting.
"How?" as in how could I possibly be good friends with the master of arguably the third or fourth most powerful nation on the face of the Earth
"That's one of those things I can't talk about."
"Do you love her?"
"I don't know. I'm lousy at relationships. I get along with her daughter. Her father wants to bury me alive in the Nevada desert. The rest of the family seems to be coming around to the idea that I might be one of them."
"That isn't a 'yes'."
"No, it isn't."
"Do you think you can ever love someone?" If you need translated ... sigh -- okay -- 'why don't you love me?'
"Do you mean 'when am I going to stop stumbling from botched relationship to botched relationship and make something constructive of my personal life?'"
"Yes."
"Did I mention that I've discovered I have a grandfather?"
"No. That isn't answering my question."
"It is in a way. Did I mention that Mom had ten sisters I wasn't aware of? I had an uncle, but he died in my arms."
"No. My condolences on your uncle. What does this have to do with you becoming more of an adult and becoming accountable for your life?"
"Did I mention I have an adopted grandmother who is my spiritual twin?"
"No."
"Don't worry about my uncle. He died trying to kill me. My aunts murdered him, though I can never prove it."
"Oh."
"My grandfather? He was the one who sent those terrorists to kill me. It was his litmus test to see if I was worthy of being in his family. I passed."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. My spiritual grandma? She's a retired professional assassin. Daily I interact with a half-dozen people who have killed multiple human beings in their lifetimes. You want to know why I'm not behaving responsibly? I am acting responsibly. I'm trying to not get the decent civilians around me killed."
[She took her while digesting that. By that time, we had returned to Havenstone and picked up Chaz. I made introductions.]
"So, are you really with the SRR?" she asked him.
"Yes."
"Why are you with Cáel?"
"My mandate contains multiple answers. Suffice it to say, since my RAF contemporary will not be returning from the UK until tomorrow, I am presently chief liaison officer for Her Majesty's government with JIKIT."
"Why are you coming along as Cáel's bodyguard? Don't you have something better to do with your Friday evenings?" Subtle and polite -- Anais ain't. Why was I putting up with her? She was a sexual tornado who would try anything once. She was a real prize.
"First question: Cáel is a friend, his life is in perpetual danger and I consider it my duty to keep him alive. He would do the same for me. Second question: the nature of my present assignment doesn't leave much room for any meaningful romantic associations."
"Hmmm," I contemplated what wasn't being said. "Chaz, you are nailing one of my security chicks, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Which one?"
"A man of character doesn't brag about such things."
Chaz was getting some Amazon nookie. I had to find a way to tell him how dangerous that was. She might decide he's make good father material -- not a good thing where Amazons were concerned.
"Are all of his security personnel women?" Anais pressed.
"Miss Saint-Amour, Havenstone is a corporation that employs over ten thousand people. There are precisely five men currently on their payroll. All their security personnel are woman. Cáel has very limited, if any, input on the matter."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes, Miss Saint-Amour. Who would trust a man of Cáel's dubious experience with his own security?" Chaz pointed out.
"Oh." She hadn't thought of that.
"Can you tell me why you think his life is in danger?"
"He is far more likely to be kidnapped than murdered. He possess certain sensitive data that powerful entities would like to access, thus I am his bodyguard tonight. Considering the quality of the women who normally guard him, I consider it an honor."
"To guard Cáel -- on a date?"
"He was kidnapped visiting a child at a playground. Yes, we believe his life is in constant peril. The training and experience of his security service is top flight and it has been a pleasure to serve among them."
"Were you with him in Budapest and Romania?"
"The metro station?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Romania?"
"Do you mean the counterterrorism action south of Miercurea Ciuc?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
Wow ... these two were lousy communicators. I could imagine Chaz propositioning one of my Amazons.
Chaz: 'You have a superior feminine physique which I find appealing. Want to fuck?'
Amazon: 'You look like you have the prerequisite stamina and battle scars to be part of the New Directive. Sure.'
"Were you involved in the actual combat? The SRR is normally an intelligence gathering unit."
"I was gathering battlefield intelligence, Miss. That required my close proximity to armed and actively hostile enemy aliens (as in they were in Romania illegally, not that they were all supernatural beings). My involvement resulted in two KIA's and one WIA."
"Damn Chaz, you rock."
"I am a professional."
"How many did Pamela gak?"
"One KIA."
"Just one? Whoa, that's so unlike her."
"She kept trying to bracket the cell leader (aka Ajax). He had the Devil's Own Luck."
"Cáel, why are you making light of all those deaths?" Anais chastised me. "How many terrorists did you wound, or kill?"
"I wounded one guy."
"That is disingenuous," Chaz chided me. "You orchestrated the operation, showed tactical expertise in seizing the most critical terrain feature and engineered the death of the terrorist leader."
"My Cáel did that? When I knew him, he was adverse to violence," Anais shook her head.
"Considering the considerable number of people he's killed, he's still adverse to physical confrontation where his own life is involved. But God help you if you threaten someone he is close to, though. He's the man who can get things done when the team is in a pinch."
"Cáel, what happened to you?" she didn't sound upset at all.
"I learned to care for people beyond my immediate interest -- you know -- actual long-term relationships," with the unspoken 'as opposed to women I'm currently having sex with'.
"It took you long enough," she snipped. Reference her being a compulsive control freak with abysmal trust issues.
The interrogation was put on hold while we entered the restaurant and ...
"Mr. Nyilas?" the maître de greeted me.
"Yes."
"We will get you a table right away," he nodded obsequiously. What the hell was up with that? Where was my two hour wait time? Oh yeah, I was a minor, fifteen seconds of fame celebrity.
"Will Ms. Sulkanen be joining you this evening?"
"No. She had to oversee a packaged Erythrosine-monosaccharides explosion in Boca Raton. Flaming plastic pink flamingo bits were raining down everywhere. I imagine it is taking an Everest-sized load of hush money to keep this out of the media," I replied. I was so eerily sincere ... he bought it and a look of horror snuck over his face. I had become the public face of corporate malfeasance.
"Your table (gulp) is ready, Sir," he began to sweat. He took us to our table for four then beat a hasty retreat. Undoubtedly his civic-mindedness would have him calling up TMZ within a minute. After all, it was unlikely he owned any plastic pink flamingos, or invested in their construction. Once he was gone, Chaz let a thin smile break through his hard-earned military unfazed-ability.
"What exactly are packaged Erythrosine-monosaccharides?" he inquired.
"Packaged is self-explanatory. Erythrosine is pink food coloring and monosaccharides are ..."
"Sugar," Anais frowned.
"Exploding pixie sticks -- I have nieces and nephews. You are a genius at misdirection, Mr. Nyilas," he nodded.
"Thank you, Colour Sergeant Tomorrow. It is nice to be appreciated for my bizarre and useless preoccupation," I grinned.
"You practice lying?" Anais' view of me dimmed.
"Miss, he excels at extraneous, outrageous utterances. No harm is intended."
"Things like I was helping her find her contact lenses?" That had been my excuse when caught coming out of Maya's apartment. Sadly, Anais is highly perceptive and knew the lady didn't wear contacts. The copious female aroma wafting off me certainly hadn't helped.
"That's unfair," I countered. "Back then, I was a college nitwit suffering from undiagnosed nymphomania. I'd like to think I'm getting better."
[French] "Êtes-vous mieux?"
[French] "Je suis assez intelligent pour aller vers vous lorsque des vies étaient sur la ligne." That's right, Anais. When my life and the lives of others were on the line, she was the first one I thought to call. Letting a woman know that you admire her profession, professionalism and reliability never hurts.
"Are you really a nymphomaniac?" she returned to English. French is the language of sex ... as is any derivative of Sanskrit, Farsi and Portuguese. Reference the multitude of Indians, the hotness of Persian women and the outpouring of lust that is Brazil.
