Jack sits on a beach thinking about a couple of jobs that while going wrong eventually help the company become what it was.
I was on a beach with nothing to do. Sara and the kids were on the mainland seeing a friend of Sara’s from her past life. A few years after Sara escaped her death sentence back in Afghanistan her friend’s husband was killed for working with the US Army as an interpreter and guide. They also made a play for the wife, but the government stepped in, and she was granted refugee status and allowed to come to the U.S. with her three children. Her first call was to Sara, but that didn’t go so well. Something about Sara marrying a Jew just didn’t seem right to her, but that was then, and this is now. She had called a few days ago and asked if she could see Sara. Now, despite what you may have read I am not a fool. One of my best friends and a once again business partner named Tima Cocks, but everyone calls her TC went with them. In fact, she flew them over in her new plane. With nothing to do or no place that needed me, I went to the beach.
TC is missing, and there is something more to her disappearance.
This was originally a story broke into multiple parts when it was originally posted, and it is now that I think is the longest short story I have posted to date. I have another story I the storyline talking about a couple of events from the past. The next story will be in the Bob Coleman storyline that ties him and Christina to the Jack Pressler stories. After that, I will either go back to another older story or start a new one.
I entered the warehouse through a broken window hidden by some crates. From what I can see there are no cameras. I had an AR-15 and a Glock 17 with two magazines. The crates hid my progress into the warehouse. The side walls were lit with a yellow light that was useless for detecting movement. Whoever this was they must have not been able to plan this kidnapping out better. Or is it an abduction with an adult. Time was running out. There is a time for stealth and a time to be seen but I had time for neither. In the middle of the warehouse there was a clear area. It was deserted. The smell of cigarettes, and copper filled the air. The copper smell was blood. Whoever was here was now gone. A path was opened to a large sliding door that was ajar. At the door I found the first body. A man about twenty-two or three. His neck was twisted around. Inside the room was the bodies of five other men of various races and ages. By the door I saw her. She was lying face down and there was blood. No.
Thanks to the movies and television many people thinking about security think they are heading into a free-for-all running gun battle with choreographed fighting and Hollywood endings. Most security officers don’t even need a gun. Jack would just be happy to have someone that can pass a drug test and not bring any gunfire with them, but you can’t always get what you want.
Thanks to John Woo and movies like John Wick more and more people in our industry are training in this idea of Gun Fu. A mix of martial arts and gunplay. I don’t know about you, but I have never been in a fight that was choreographed like a movie. A movie fight is planned with a winner in the script, but real life isn’t a movie. I have plenty of friends that would have had better reads and better ends if they had a script. Also, a fight is rarely fair and never pretty. People die ugly in real life. A man that was a mythical killer would have been shot dead from a distance long before he went on a killing spree over a dog. Having said that, it was a good movie.
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.
A year after Jack met TC and before they formed their company, Jack was hired to guard a warehouse and something more. Much of the earlier stories were built on the events of this story.
Let’s see, one, two, three, four, five, six and me. Yes, if this were the old Adam West Batman show, I would be Thug Number Seven. I took a job guarding a warehouse here in Mexico with eight other guys. I spend most of my day with an AK walking the perimeter. The others seem to be very uninterested in what we are guarding or in the actual act of guarding. The guy I am calling Thug Number three left his rifle at a card table and is now in the can. Thug Number Four is asleep in a corner. Clearly, the owner of this warehouse was hiring top-notch operators. Oh, wait they also hired me. Ok.
After helping a man get away from the charity that was supposed to help him, Jack and his team find Top-Hat Santa in trouble again.
We were sitting in a van watching an apartment building. Well some of us were watching the building. TC was watching Jimmy tossing a flashbang from hand to hand almost juggling it. Not long after I hired Jimmy, he accidentally set off a flashbang in a surveillance car being used to watch a target. Ted lost some hearing in his left ear, and the flashbang set the car on fire. The result was that Ted doesn’t go into the field unless he has too. Or wants too. I wouldn’t stop him. Mid toss TC caught the flashbang. She said, “I’ll make you eat this if you toss it again.” She then let it drop into his hand. The flashbang suddenly became a priceless fragile egg-like object to be protected and stored safely.
Finding good people for a gun-heavy security company but it's easy to help those that need help.
After thinking about I decided to take the Girl Scout/Home Depot stories and combine them. I will work on that and post it when I can.
When somebody comes to work for us, they sign a no-compete contract. They are not free to take jobs outside of the company. In signing the contract, a new employee will receive $1200 a week plus health benefits. We also pay a bonus for every job worked. In a line of work such as ours having a steady paycheck without having to sell your soul is a good deal. Some people can disconnect what they do from who they are. Some are just evil and like to kill for money. It’s hard to find the kind of people we want and not the ones we don’t.
People collecting for a charity are being attacked, but it seems to be more than what it appears. Bells will fly along with fists and feet.
Here I am standing on a corner ringing a bell wearing a Santa Clause suit. The job sounded easy. Find the people beating up the Salvation Army workers. In the past couple of days, seven bell ringers have been assaulted with one of them losing an eye in the attack. The temp service that supplies the local Salvation Army here wanted to protect their workers. After the cookie incident, I had said never again, but here we are working for an icon of Americana in red and white suits. As it turned out the initial part was easy. About a day into our stake out a rival charity showed up to go after my second-in-command a woman we all call TC. That was a very big mistake. TC is a tall, strong, beautiful black woman who likes to kick ass.
The three men followed her into an alley. The first dressed as an elf swung a tire iron at her head. She easily dodged the swing and brought up her knee connecting with his junk. The force of the kick doubled him over. As he fell the other elf and Santa struck. The elf pulled a knife and came at her with a downward slashing motion. Like he was a movie psycho. TC shifted to her side and used his downward force to propel the knife toward him. He stabbed himself in the thigh. Santa struck with a led pipe. He used a sideways motion trying to prevent what just happened to his elf. The result was a weak hit to the forearm. She easily disarmed Saint Nick and used the pipe on his, well let’s just say he won’t be walking right for a while.
On his way back to where he was from, Jack looks back at his relationship with his father, grandfather and the day his life changed way back when he was twelve.
I was on a beach in Southern California when I got the call I’ve been waiting for. My father has been battling throat cancer for a while now. Today he lost the battle. I was on the beach watching the surf when the call came in. He was diagnosed about three years ago. About a year ago they had to have his larynx removed due to cancer. His last words to me where “I don’t know why you came.” This was nothing new. He and I have never had that all-American father-son relationship from the movies or television. I had a better relationship with my grandfather. I had to tell my sister I couldn’t come right away, but I would be there as soon as I could. I had another surgery in the morning on my hand scheduled. I was shot while on a job in Canada and required four surgeries to fix my right hand. It also required spending days on the beach and plenty of drinks. She said she understood and she wouldn’t touch the house until I got there. I was the oldest, but Ruth lived nearby. She lived in Uniontown Ohio about 5 minutes from dad’s house. It would be a week before I could go back to Ohio.
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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