Cross Island

by Santino Hassell

  “You’re really gonna run to Kenneth?” I asked. “Go ahead. He hired me and you trained me. If you both think I can’t get the job done, or behave appropriately with clients, just because of my past, I really don’t even see the point of my salary.”

  The door to the breakroom opened before Chester could find a reply. I wasn’t surprised to see Clive. I was even less surprised by the stink eye he was giving Chester. The way my supervisor had dragged me out of the room hadn’t exactly been low key.

  “Is there a problem?” Clive looked between us. “Because my decision is made.”

  Chester had looked ready to blow his top only seconds ago, but that neutral mask slipped into place immediately now that he was faced with a client. “No problem. I was expressing my concern to Victor about his first assignment to be one where the client already has a high-risk situation in play.”

  “You’re security guards,” Clive said, sounding bored. “Don’t you all perform the same function?”

  Miraculously, Chester didn’t blink. “Mr. Stone uses the title of executive protection agents. We’re specifically trained to be proactive logisticians who design counter measures against every possible scenario in our clients’ day-to-day lives.”

  “How dramatic.” Clive wiped a hand over his face, smearing sweat and causing his smooth brown skin to glisten beneath the light. “Are you saying Victor is incapable?”

  “Of course not. He went through rigorous counter surveillance drills and boot camp the same as the rest of the staff.”

  “Then,” Clive said, ice forming at the end of his words. “What is your problem?”

  Chester’s cheek clenched. I took pity on him and pushed away from the wall.

  “He’s worried my personality isn’t a good fit.”

  “And why is that? Oli said you were, and I quote, quiet and polite.” Clive examined me again, doing a slow circuit of my body with his gaze. “You certainly look the part. I imagine any pathetic internet bully will see your muscles, scars and tattoos, and run in the other direction.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t do bodyguard charm school like my colleagues, and they’re worried there’s a little too much South Jamaica left in me,” I said. “Real talk? I have a past and I can have an attitude problem. I speak before thinking, but I’m working on it. I’m also working on how abrasive I can be, and knowing when to keep my mouth shut. But at the end of the day, that shit isn’t gonna vanish over the night, and most people don’t like me.”

  “Same.” He was still using the same dull tone, but he was watching me a little more intently. After a beat, he glanced at Chester. “He will be fine. And if it doesn’t work, I’m not one to hesitate to pull the plug.”

  That was probably Chester’s entire issue. If I didn’t work out, Clive was likely to pull the plug on the entire thing and decide he was fine with no security agent at all. Even so, Chester nodded without a trace of reluctance. He really did know how to play the part and follow orders. Something I needed to get better at.

  “Excellent,” Clive said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to know Victor. Privately.”

  I wasn’t ready to be alone with him. I really wasn’t. Something about him was too intense. The way he made direct eye contact, his challenging tone, his sarcasm and how his asshole qualities didn’t detract from his sophistication. He was intimidating. I kind of wanted to be like him.

  “I’ll leave you to it while I get started on the paperwork,” Chester said, still masking his reluctance.

  “We won’t be staying here.” Clive zipped his hoodie and backed out the door. “I’m hungry, and I’m taking my new executive security whatever to breakfast. There’s a farm-to-table diner a couple of blocks down, and I need to hit my morning macros.”

  Chester went from neutral to horrified. “The paperwork isn’t done yet.”

  Clive blinked. “I didn’t say he would be going there as my security agent, Chester. I’m buying him eggs from some hipster’s henhouse in Brooklyn. You can prepare the contract in the meantime.”

  Again, Chester’s face went a little ruddy, and I was in awe. Clive could verbally wreck someone without cursing them the fuck out, which had always been my MO. Now, I kept my mouth shut to avoid being overly disrespectful when pissed off. It was a skill I’d had to learn to avoid getting bounced from Job Corps, but it had led to me turning into a silent looming asshole with zero personality.

  Clive’s patience seemed to be on a short tether because he walked out without another word. I knew he expected me to follow, so I did without question. Once we were out of the office and standing in front of the elevator, he gave me a tight nod of approval. I liked that. A lot.

  We walked to the diner in silence, some tiny boutique looking place with fancy wooden décor, and sat across from each other in a far corner. I automatically positioned myself to keep an eye on the front door. The place was empty, but it was extremely dark outside since the sun didn’t rise for another hour. He was really a trip to have gone out for a run along the river at five in the damn morning. Now that he was my responsibility, it kind of pissed me off.

  “You should consider opening your menu,” Clive said. “Unless you’ve been here before.”

  “I drank a protein shake on the way here.”

  “That’s nice. Now you’ll eat again.” Clive put his menu down and stared at me. “What do you want?”

  He was ordering me to eat. It was weird. He was weird. But again, I looked at the menu without considering telling him to fuck off. Everything was about fifteen bucks more than I wanted to spend on breakfast with my new client.

  “I’ll just have coffee.”

  “Try again,” he said. “Don’t bore me, Victor.”

  “If you were hoping for an entertaining bodyguard, you picked the wrong dude.” I scanned the menu again. The place was dimly lit, as if breakfast needed to seem like an intimate date. “I’ll get the eggs and bacon.”

  Clive’s mouth twitched. “Do you have a hang-up about money? You shouldn’t. I’m pretty sure you will be looking at a salary-sized bonus for this gig.”

  He wasn’t lying even though that detail had slipped my mind once he’d looked me dead in the face and asked if I was willing. None of the other agents were on round the clock details, but they got hefty bonuses for being assigned to specific people. Now that he was mine 24/7? I’d have more than enough to move out of South Jamaica. I could probably buy a condo if I wanted.

  “What was that face?” Clive asked, raising an eyebrow. “Was it a smile?”

  I snorted. “No. But I’d forgotten about the money, and I’ve been wanting to move, so it will come in handy.”

  Clive nodded slowly, not looking away. He was analyzing me. I knew it, but I couldn’t do anything about it, so I sat there and let him stare me down. Usually, someone giving me the eye was a sure-fire way to get me agitated, but I didn’t mind those big dark eyes tracing my features and body.

  The waiter came by and took our orders. Clive got a veggie omelet with a turkey bacon, and I changed my order to avocado toast and orange juice.

  “Avocado toast.” Clive smirked “How cliché.”

  “Yeah, well, might as well do the thing if people keep saying I’m doing it,” I said.

  “Dangerous policy.” Clive crossed one knee over the other, elegant even in sweatpants and a T-shirt. “How old are you, Victor?”

  “Twenty-four.” I drank a large gulp of water just for the sake of doing something with my hands. My eyes were drawn to the tight pull of his T-shirt on his broad shoulders, and I hated it. Living in NYC, I saw attractive people every day. Since moving back home, I’d been able to ignore them, buckle down, and focus on myself. But now this bossy son-of-a-bitch was rewiring my brain, and my body was buzzing with awareness. “You?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  My head jerked back in surprise. “No fucking way.”

  “My mother taught me early to moisturize,” he said, dead-pan. “My skin will be this smoot
h and impeccable until I die.”

  Smooth and impeccable essentially described him as a human being. He was dressed more casually than me, and I still felt mad suspect in this fancy breakfast spot. I reminded myself, the way I did so frequently, that nobody in the West Village knew anything about me or where I’d come from. Although, people always drew conclusions from my scarred-up face.

  We sat quietly, studying each other without hiding it, until our food was brought to the table. He ate slowly and precisely while I shoveled toast in my mouth, absently watching the windows and door. There was a door leading to a side patio by the kitchen, but the patio was closed until eight according to a sign.

  “Tell me about yourself, Victor.”

  “There’s not much to say.”

  “Everything about you indicates otherwise.” Clive gestured at me with his fork. “And, as far as I understand, I’ll be getting a detailed report of your background before we sign the paperwork, anyway.”

  He was right, but I wondered how much of a report he’d get. A lot of the shit that had happened in my youth was sealed, and I didn’t think even Kenneth Stone could expose my juvenile records to the public. As an adult, I’d never been convicted of a crime although I’d been arrested several times before moving to Chicago.

  The fact that he wasn’t close with the Rodriguez fam was also a note in my favor. He wouldn’t have heard much about me from that crew, and I doubted the QFindr execs went around blabbing about personnel even if they were in on my secrets.

  I licked avocado off my thumb, still keeping my attention over his shoulder. “I moved to Chicago from South Jamaica about four years ago. My older sister, Stephanie, sent me there to stay with my uncle. He helped me get into Job Corps, where I was in the Security and Protective Services training program for a year. I got certified, worked for a couple of years at department and jewelry stores in Chicago, then moved back about six months ago.”

  “A succinct version of events,” Clive noted, looking amused. “Highly edited for television.”

  “It’s what happened.”

  “Right.” Clive took a long sip of coffee, never taking his eyes off me. “How did you come to work for Kenneth Stone?”

  “I’m staying with Tonya Maldonado. Kenneth came by the crib and offered her a gig. I needed a job, and suggested he offer me one too.”

  Clive nearly choked on his coffee. “You suggested Kenneth Stone hire you?”

  “Yeah. He had what I needed, so I went for it.” I pushed my empty plate towards the middle of the table. “That’s how I do.”

  “How… audacious.” Clive’s mouth had curved into a half smile. “Do you like working for his firm?”

  “Yup.”

  “Yup,” he repeated flatly. “They treat you like you’re an idiot. Why do you like it?”

  “Damn.” A laugh popped out of me, too loud in the quiet diner. “I wouldn’t put it that way. Yeah, Chester calls me a kid, and they hover over me a lot, but this is a lot different than what I used to do—guarding jewelry stores. We were assigned to QFindr because of actual death threats and an attack on a staff member. It’s real shit, and I don’t have military or law enforcement backgrounds like they do. I’m just the dude who used to throw hands every time someone looked at him sideways in the park.”

  Clive leaned forward and reached towards my face. I tensed, and he paused with his fingertips inches from the lash that marred my cheek. I didn’t jerk away, but he read me well enough to point instead of touching it.

  “Is that how this happened?”

  “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “That was some stupid kid shit.”

  Clive dropped his hand. “Explain.”

  “You know. Gang initiation. Some dumbass kid randomly slashed me when I was riding the J train. Didn’t know him, and it wasn’t in my neighborhood.”

  “Ah, I see.” Clive rubbed his thumb against the grain of the wooden table. He watched me shrewdly. “What would you have done if he’d been from your neighborhood?”

  I’d have hunted him down with a couple of my boys and beat the shit out of him right in the middle of King’s Park so everyone could see. I’d probably have beaten him so fucking bad, he’d need more than stitches. I’d have hurt him. And someone would have had to have stopped me from hurting him more. Maybe hurting him so bad he never woke up quite the same way again.

  I’d have probably caught a felony. I’d have been lost to the abyss of Rikers.

  “I don’t know,” I lied. “Never thought about it.”

  “Think about it now,” he suggested.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Because I’m curious why you tense up when I ask about your past.” He tilted his head. “And I want to know how it relates to you loathing Raymond Rodriguez.”

  Irritation cut through the remnants of the thrill I’d gotten from being the center of his attention. The fact that I liked pleasing him wasn’t enough for me to spill my messed-up adolescence all over the nice wooden table. “I’d rather we talk about the job. The logistics.”

  Clive didn’t fight the subject change, which meant he wasn’t giving up. He’d bring it up again later.

  “I live in Whitestone,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Yeah. Italian neighborhood by Flushing. No trains go there, so I don’t fuck with it.”

  “You do now, but I suspect the company will be giving you a car, so you can drive me around.” There was a mocking edge to Clive’s voice when he talked about my impending duties. He really thought he was above harm. The cockiness was interesting, and reminded me a bit of myself. “I have a house there—a basement, attic, and two stories. The basement isn’t finished but I use it as a gym, and the attic is used for storage. There are three bedrooms—one is an office, then there’s my room, and then there’s yours. The guestroom.”

  “Do you generally have guests?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said as if the idea appalled him. “But that brings to mind a question of mine. We will be living together for at least the next month until my mailbox pen pal is caught. Are you seeing anyone who would try to visit you at my home?”

  “No. And even if I was, they wouldn’t be allowed to drop by your house.”

  Clive nodded. “What about family or friends? I find it hard to wrap my mind around you so quickly accepting a job that will cut you off from your life.”

  “My sister barely speaks to me, and I don’t have any friends.”

  He was unmoved by the admission. I wondered if he was close to his family, and whether he spent a lot of time with friends. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask since his social life was now part of my job, but there was part of me that was simply curious. He seemed so removed and unaffected by people in general. It was hard to picture him going on a lot of outings for the sole purpose of spending time with other people. He was more the type of guy who’d spend his time purposefully.

  “There’s another thing,” Clive said. “I’m gay.”

  I waited for the ‘thing’, realized he meant being gay, and raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

  His mouth twitched. “I assume it’s not a problem.”

  “Bro—”

  “Don’t call me bro.”

  I cringed. This was exactly what Chester had been talking about when it came to being too ‘familiar’. “Sorry. I was just gonna say, isn’t everyone at QFindr gay, or not straight, or whatever? Even Chester has—” I cut myself off before I could say a little too much about what I’d observed about Chester and his weird pining for our boss. “Whatever. I got no problem with gay people.”

  Clive nodded silently, slowly, and I could almost see him wondering what my issue was with Raymond. My hackles rose, and I once again crossed my arms over my chest.

  “How will it work when I meet someone for a hook-up?”

  “I’d wait outside their house,” I said. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “What if I let them suck my dick in their car? Are you g
oing to stand guard on the sidewalk until we’re done?”

  I stared at him, confused. “Who do you be meeting that you have to get into their cars for sex?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up again. He was definitely amused. “There are times when I meet people on apps.”

  He had to be kidding me. “Random strangers?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you meet them and just run out and hook up with them?”

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Okay, but you realize that’s a stupid idea at the moment, right?” I knew I’d probably gone too far when his eyes slightly narrowed, but I could already sense how frustrating his assignment was going to be. “Whoever is watching you knows you’re gay. They could use those exact same apps to try to arrange a meeting with you, and then catch you off guard.”

  “Well bodyguard, that’s why you will be there.” Clive held up his fingers to flag down the waiter. “Is it going to be a problem?”

  That he was going to potentially put himself in danger on a regular basis just to be a huge pain in the ass who took nothing seriously? Yeah. It was going to be a problem. And I now knew why Aiden had been so bent out of shape.

  But my frustration only fueled my desire to succeed at this assignment. I had the nagging feeling that this wouldn’t be a boring case of me tailing someone for precaution only, like with the other security details we had in place. Something was going to happen. I could feel it, just like I’d felt it that night in the park when everything had gone wrong. The night Stephanie had sent me away.

  Except this time, maybe I’d be able to stop it.

  “No problem at all,” I said. “Just know that I’m not leaving your side regardless of what you’re doing.”

  Clive gave me another of those penetrating looks, but the waiter appeared before he could say anything more.

  Cross Island, ch 5

  Chapter Five

  Clive

  Victor was absurdly attractive.