Ah yes, a honeymoon. A time to put your troubles aside and enjoy those first days of married life unless the Russian mob wants you dead. Bob and Christina find themselves in a cabin in the wilds of Maine in winter waiting for a safe place for them to move. With supplies running low and no power or cell reception just maybe it would be better to face the mob?
This is a connecting story to the Jack Pressler story named Cabin Security I just posted earlier. It is basically the same story told from Bob’s point of view.
Two weeks. We have been in this crappy cabin for two weeks. No heat, no power and not a cell signal in site. I think Christina is losing it. She hasn’t been this long off the grid for maybe most of her life. She has taken to talking and yelling at her now dead phone. We are running out of supplies. The milk is gone, and the coffee is down to enough grounds for a couple of pots. Like everything else, the coffee is made over an open fire in the hearth. There is an old stove, but the pipe is constantly being buried with snow, but it’s not all bad. The time we are alone is also time we can spend together. No one to complain about the noise and my girl likes to make noise. She has taken to singing while we make love. From Katy Perry’s Roar to Closer by Nine Inch Nails. When her phone died she started to use my chest for the rhythm section. The red marks on my chest speak to how we love our time together.
Shot, broken and seeing things, sometimes it better to say at home. While on a job helping a friend, Jack finds himself in the snows of Maine fighting off the cold, Russians and hallucinations to help a young couple who are just trying to have a quiet, ordinary honeymoon. As if anything Bob and Christina do could be considered ordinary.
This is a crossover between the Security Stories and Special Security Service stories that will eventually have them as one story just told from four different perspectives. This one and the next one are essentially the same stories told from two different points of view with the second (published later today) giving a better end to the story (but not an end to the storyline). This also sets the events of The Devil’s Icebox about two to three years after the Wedding Story.
It’s cold. Too cold. The cold is working in and shutting me down. I must have three or four broken ribs and several hits. I can taste blood. That means internal injuries. Laying here watching that path I can’t help but think about my wife Sara and our daughter Trina. She just turned two and is walking. Trina, not Sara, she had been walking for a while now. I had a Colt M4 with six magazines and a Glock 17 with four magazines. In my position, I have a clear site along the trail on the west side. The two I was protecting went east on the only other path. I hope they make it.
Here I am standing at an altar holding a silver and turquoise ring waiting for my non-traditional girlfriend to do the most traditional thing we could ever do. The ring was her great-great grandmothers. Back in the small town where she lived, she had been the one to ask for his hand when he had some sort of problem asking. He was the sheriff, and she was a reporter or something. It has become a tradition for their family to wear a silver ring with topaz or turquoise. Now the wedding was as nontraditional as she could pull off. For starters, none of the groom’s side was wearing pants. Despite none of us being Scottish we all wore kilts. I was in a black and red plaid while the rest wore a solid black. The red was echoed in her dress. A white dress with a crimson piping and a crimson veil. The dress also had silver beads that shimmered in the light. The bridesmaids all wore red tuxedos. Something that would feel at home in the 1970’s all ruffles and bell bottoms. Funky.
Bob is working a job he doesn’t like after an on-the-job injury in what should be a simple job but much like his home life nothing is ever simple.
This story is a companion to the story After Prom happening at the same time as that story with parts that are the same just from a different point of view.
Is life ever simple? About a month ago my girlfriend’s girlfriend moved in with us. How did that become my life? She had stayed with us for about three days, but when she went home, she found her girlfriend had moved out and taken everything. With nothing to go back too, she moved in with us. In that time, she has changed her look and found an acting job. When I first met Cindy, she had nasty unwashed dark red dreadlocks and was pierced in every way you could be pierced. On her official first day living with us she had cut the dreads and washed the color out of her hair and was in a costume of sorts. She had an audition for a television show about women in their twenties and thirties dealing with life after prison as ex-cons. Think of it as Orange is the New Black after they get out of jail. She was auditioning for a stereotypical lesbian role with the men’s clothing and masculine demeanor. She doesn’t like the visual, but a job is a job. Last month, she started to shoot the show. She also has edited a sex video my girlfriend Christina talked me into. It now has special effects, original music, and a laugh track. Cindy says she wrote and played the music, but I don’t see how. Christina and I had to explain to her about Christina’s father. He was a hitman for the Russian mob and turned into an informant. This made Christina a target for the mob. That video can’t see the light of day or people will find her.
Bob Coleman was starting to wonder what was more dangerous, his work or his life. To make matters worse, his new job paid a hazard pay.
To make sense of the next story in this story line, I need to go back and do the first couple of Jennifer stories because they tie into Bob’s story and the hotel.
After I was suspended for leaving early, I got a call from the security company. They wanted me to move to another facility. I was bringing unwanted attention by the feds, but they also like my initiative. They liked how I killed people. They said they have several jobs that they had a hard time filling. Places that someone with my talents could fit well and they will pay a bonus. I’m not sure how I feel about that. The company has an old office building they converted into a very special hotel. It acts as a safe house for customers who need a little more security when in town. We see celebrities, politicians and corporate types. I spent my first night walking the halls checking doors.
Bob Coleman is a security guard hired to do a simple job because after all what could happen in an empty warehouse?
I was hired to watch an empty warehouse about a month ago. It’s easy work. I walk the perimeter every night looking for anyone who wants to break in. Mostly it’s kids wanting to tag the building or make out. The most frequent trespasser is my girlfriend. I met her about a month ago on another job. Maybe spending time in my office with her isn’t exactly part of my job, but it’s not like I am guarding anything. That was until last night.
Bob Coleman is a security guard on what should have been an easy job. After all, who goes to the library looking for trouble.
I went to the right while he ducked behind a row of books. But a stack of books won’t stop a 9 mm. I shot through the bookcase and books. I hit him with the fifth and sixth shot, and the third one was down, but how many more are there? As I thought about it, two more came into the adult reading section guns blazing. They shot randomly not knowing where their target I could easily see my targets. I fired hitting them both then my slide locked back with the last shot. About a month ago I took a job with a library as a security guard. I am certified to carry a gun, and I also have my carry concealed license. Just in case there is a problem. After taking the courses, this was the first real job I could find. The pay isn’t the best but who goes to the library for a gunfight. Well, I guess these guys came looking for a fight. I grabbed my cell phone, no signal. The library has a sophisticated cell phone jamming system in place to keep it cell phone free.
The Security in the Series are now reworked. I hope they are easier to read. The one named “Security in the After Prom” is a tie in to the Jennifer Story named After Prom. The Story named “Security in the Cabin” is a tie in to a story from the Specialty Service that I will repost soon.
**Side note I hinted at the idea in the Wedding Story and yes, both Agent Sampson and Christina are the descendants of Edward Warren and Joleen Warren from the Knuckle Smash Kid and the Joleen Warren Series. In fact, there are a lot of tie ins to most of these stories**
About a mile away the phone beeped. It found a signal. We called for help. The Agent on the line said there was a retired doctor in a cabin nearby. They would try to alert him. With that I looked at Christina. Or I looked at her back. She was already on the way back to Jack. Times like this I should remember that I don’t need to protect her I need to support her. We made it back to the cabin. She went in to build a homemade travois with plenty of duct tape. Actually, we had Gorilla tape but Duct tape seems more MacGyver. I went on the roof. From there I could see the battle. Just as I looked a guy on the bridge exploded and was tossed into the ice and water. I thought, “the kind of ammo is he using?” Jack was talking to someone. I couldn’t tell what he was saying. All I do know was it wasn’t to me.
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Two weeks. We have been in this crappy cabin for two weeks. No heat, no power and not a cell signal in site. I think Christina is losing it. She hasn’t been this long of the grid for maybe most of her life. She has taken to talking and yelling at her now dead phone. We are running out of supplies. The milk is gone and the coffee is down to enough grounds for couple of pots. Like everything else the coffee is made over an open fire in the hearth. There is an old stove but the pipe is constantly being buried with snow.
click on Read More to continue
These are short stories I wrote. Some are connected to the larger books I am working on others are just for the fun of story telling.
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