by C. R. Daems
Having identified each of the team players and coaches, I let Harkin shower in peace, although I was waiting as he and the others exited. I got a lot of wise cracks, dirty looks, and cursing when I wouldn't leave Harkin—and by extension the others—out of my sight.
"That was damn embarrassing," Harkin said as we left the locker room. Wickman was waiting as we exited.
"I know that you and the others considered it unnecessary and today it was. And if I knew if or when someone would try to kill you, I could sit and read a book until then. However, I don't, so I have to assume it could be any minute of the day or night."
On the way back to his house he drove a bit slower. I doubt he exceeded the speed limit by more than twenty miles-per-hour. Back at the house I discovered he had his own private chef who prepared his meals when he was in town and intended to eat at home. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, good figure, blond hair, and a round pretty face.
"Hi, Doug, Coach Phillip sent me an updated diet. According to your tweet you will be eating at home tonight, but you didn't mention a…guest."
"Susan, this is the Kazak Megan. She's my…bodyguard who I'm hoping is now off-duty and leaving," he said and smiled in my direction.
"Hi, Susan. I'm Mr. Harkin's live-in guest for the foreseeable future. You can assume I'll be here for all meals, though I'll be happy with anything. Preferably something bland tasting, can be eaten with one hand, and not messy. Water, juice, or coffee whatever is available."
Harkin’s mouth hung open for several seconds. "Live-in?"
"Yes, twenty-four/seven, unless you know when someone will try to kill you. Oh, and knowing who will try to kill you would be nice."
"No one works twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."
"Kazaks do. Since I don't know who wants to kill you, how many, who they may have hired, or when or where they plan to do it, I have to keep you in sight twenty-four hours a day until the situation is resolved. So you go about your business and let me do my job, for which I trained ten years, to keep you alive."
Harkin stared at me for a long time before he sat. When he did I moved against a wall. No one spoke as Susan began placing food on the table—a platter with chicken breasts and thighs surrounded with tomatoes, onions, olives and other miscellaneous things I couldn't identify and a large bowl of brown rice and another with vegetables of some kind. It looked like enough food to feed a family of four. She returned to the kitchen and several minutes later returned with a sandwich on a plate in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. I took the milk and set it on the floor and then picked the sandwich off the plate.
"Thank you, Susan. This is perfect."
"You don't know what it is. It may be something you don't like. And it's going to be tasteless because I didn't put anything on it since you didn't tell me what you like or don't like."
"Susan, it's perfect because it’s food I can hold in one hand and eat, and it isn't dripping."
"Don't you have likes or dislikes?"
"Yes. I'd prefer my food didn't move, wasn't greasy, and was free of anything that would prevent it from being tasteless."
"You can't mean it," Susan said, staring at me as though waiting for me to smile at the joke. From the smell of the chicken, I'd bet she was a good cook and eager to please.
"I know it appears silly, me standing against the wall and wanting food I can eat with one hand when I could be sitting at the table feasting on all that wonderful food you've prepared for Mr. Harkin." I nodded to the table where Harkin was plowing through his second or maybe third helping of everything. "Chances that anyone may come bursting through the door, blasting away with an automatic weapon, is close to zero, but my boss expects me to act as though it’s going to happen any minute now. He gets really upset when a Kazak lets a client die."
"Seems silly," she said returning to Harkin. "Sir, is there anything else I can get you."
"No, Susan. The chicken cacciatore was delicious."
Harkin leaned back with a glass of milk and a sigh of satisfaction as Susan returned to the kitchen and began cleaning up. He finished the milk and rose.
"I'm going to take a shower and change. You can watch television or listen to music if you want. There are a couple hundred albums in the iPad on the Bose SoundDock in the living room," he said, pointing left in the direction of the stairs leading to the next level, then turned and began walking right toward a hallway. I followed. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Wherever you're going. Think of me as a sweet little puppy who can't stand to have you out of sight."
He stopped and turned to face me. "You plan on sleeping in my bed too?" he said with a sneer.
"No, I've been told my Glock, knives, and baton make sleeping next to me very uncomfortable." I smiled. When his sneer faded I took pity on him. "Mr. Harkin, I understand your need for privacy at times, like sleeping, showers, and so forth. And so long as it doesn't subject you to unnecessary danger, I'm willing to accommodate you. All I want to do now is to check out your sleeping area and assess any potential danger. I don't need to be in your bed, shower, or bedroom so long as there is only one access point which I can guard, and all windows are covered with material that doesn't permit you or your silhouette to be seen from the outside."
Harkin stood staring at me for a long time, then turned and continued walking to the end of the hallway and into a large bedroom. He stopped and waved me in, frowning. The bedroom had a king size bed with a night stand on each side, a padded chair, a fifty-something-inch television hanging on the wall above a long cabinet containing electronic boxes and CDs, and a wall of windows with a panoramic view of the golf course and the mountains beyond. I picked up a tablet-looking device, turned it on, found the window controls, and lowered the shades. They looked to be reasonably room darkening. The bathroom had a tub the size of a queen size bed, a walk-in shower with a built-in television, radio, and intercom combination, a long counter with two basins, cabinets underneath, and a mirror that stretched the entire length—and more windows with shades like the bedroom. On the other side of the room was a walk-in closet half the size of the bedroom. I was surprised it didn't have windows.
"Well?"
"So long as there is no access except this hallway to these bedrooms and you close the shades when the lights are on, I can position a chair to guard the hallway and see entrances to other access points into the house."
"You're going to sleep here in a chair? Are you crazy?" His voice rose with each question and his face reddened.
"Yes, I'm your twenty-four/seven house guest and, yes, I'm crazy because I'm going to compromise on my ‘you'll be able to see me by turning your head’ statement." I shrugged. He stood with his mouth open, glaring at me. Eventually he entered his bedroom and shut the door. I strolled down the hallway, looking into each of the other three bedrooms. Then I pulled out a chair from the dining table and sat facing the hallway. Susan looked to be just about finished cleaning up.
"Do you really think someone would come out here to kill…harm Mr. Harkin? The police said he acted in self-defense and killing that kid was an accident. Surely that settles it," Susan said, looking across the island in my direction. "He can be a little hot tempered at times, but he's really a good man and does a lot for the community."
"I have to assume they might. Whether Mr. Harkin is innocent in the eyes of the law or is a good person doesn't matter if the gang members feel otherwise. If Mr. Harkins had killed one of his neighbor's kids they would most likely sue him, or send nasty or threatening emails, or petition to have him removed from the country club. Gangs tend to take more direct action. They believe more in an eye for an eye," I said as Harkin came strolling down the hallway, dressed for going out.
"Where are we going, Mr. Harkin?" I asked. Alarms began ringing when he didn't protest.
"A drink with friends," he said as he continued walking down the stairs and into the garage, with me following. He stopped and surveyed his cars as th
e garage doors opened. He eventually walked to the Mercedes, jumped in, and started the engine as I walked around to the other side. As I reached for the door handle he hit the accelerator, and the tires screeched and left a trail of burning rubber as the car lurched forward and out the garage. I pulled out my Glock, took careful aim—not wanting to kill my client—and shot out both the rear tires. I was impressed when he managed to keep the car mostly on the driveway as the tires exploded. FBI men stood there looking from the Mercedes to me and back as the car eventually stopped when it hit a saguaro. One drew his gun but hesitated when I put mine away and began walking toward the car.
"Why did you shoot him? You could have killed him," one of the agents shouted at me. I ignored him and continued walking toward the Mercedes. The car door flew open and Harkin jumped out, face scarlet and twisted in fury.
"You god damn lunatic. You could have killed me! I'll have you arrested, you crazy bitch!"
"You've hurt my feelings, again, I may add. And after I forgave you for running off without me. I thought about leaving but decided to give you another chance, hoping you didn't mean to run off without me."
"What are you babbling about? I hate you," he shouted. Wickman stood off to the side with a slight smile, as though he were watching an interesting sports event. I noticed he had kept his agent from interfering.
"If I had left when you sped off, your hockey season would be over. If you knew that when you left, then I apologize and I'll leave immediately." I smiled, hardly able to contain a laugh as his face when went from flushed-anger, to open-mouth confusion, to open-eyed realization, to a closed-eyed sigh of resignation.
"You're right. It was thoughtless. A night with the boys isn't worth it."
"I don't mind spending a night with the boys, let's go."
Wickman smiled and he and his agent began walking back to their car in quiet conversation. Harkin stared at me for several minutes, then nodded.
"Why not. I'll go get the Jag." He proceeded to the garage and returned driving the BMW. He stopped and I hopped in the back behind him. He went around the Mercedes and onto Dynamite Drive. After that it was hard to see the street signs as it was getting dark. Traffic was light, considering Phoenix is a large city. About a half hour later he pulled into a parking lot and got out, with me following. He wasn't talking so I think he planned to pretend I was tagging along. He showed the man at the door something and we were admitted. Once inside, the place was larger than it looked from the small entrance. The crowd inside looked to be in their mid-twenties to early thirties. There were several rooms: a lounge, a dance floor, and a karaoke room. Harkin headed for the lounge where a tall young man was waving at him from a table with five others. A young girl was sort of dancing on a nearby stage as she stripped. She didn't appear to be the prime time attraction, more like background entertainment.
"Hi, Doug, wasn't sure if you were going to make it. Sean said…" The man hesitated as he noticed me following Harkin.
"Leave it to you to get a good-looking woman for a bodyguard. Hi, I'm Rick," he said, giving me head-to-toe inspection. He and the other two men were in their mid-to-late twenties and looked like athletes, although obviously not on the Arizona Coyotes team. Rick was a few inches shorter than Harkin but wider and all muscle. He was all smiles, but his eyes said he could be nasty. "That's Leone and Jerry. The girls are Lynda and…"
"Sandy," the blonde said cheerfully with a wave. Leone and Jerry were both tall and muscular, judging by their biceps and wide chests.
"Doug, what do you want to drink? And what about you, sweet thing?" Rick asked as he sat and waved to the three empty chairs.
"Heineken," Harkin said to the waitress who magically appeared as he sat. She looked at me. I scanned the room and decided the bar gave me the best view of the room and shook my head as I head for a stool at the end of the bar.
"Not very sociable is she?" Rick asked. His voice faded into the background noise as I approached the bar. When I sat a trim thirty-something brunette approached.
"What will you have, hon?"
"Anything non-alcoholic," I said, laying a twenty on the bar before she could protest. "That’s yours for the inconvenience."
She smiled, grabbed the twenty and waltzed off, returning with a martini glass containing a clear liquid and an olive on a stick. I took a sip—water.
"Perfect. You can get me another one every half hour," I said, knowing that would keep her and management happy.
"I'm Alice." She nodded and walked away smiling. I hadn't been there ten minutes when a good-looking thirty-something man sat down on the stool next to me.
"Hi, I'm Bert. Can I buy you a drink?" he said, holding out his hand. Alice watched while pretending to be cleaning the bar where no one had been sitting.
"No, thank you, Bert. I have a drink and I'm a lesbian." The look on his face was priceless. His mouth dropped open, his cheeks turned pink, and he looked away. He mumbled something and left. Sometime later Alice came with another drink and I handed her another twenty.
"That's a great line, hon. I'll have to remember it when I don't want company. Not only discouraged Bert The Flirt but everyone else in the lounge. But what happens if a woman sits down?"
"Then I'm a transvestite." I smiled. She choked and went away laughing. To Harkin's credit he only had two beers. Several women dropped by his table and he danced with two during the three hours he stayed. The first time I got up to follow I caught Alice's attention.
"Get me another drink and save my seat." Following him from a distance was the best I could do. At least I could survey the room, looking for suspicious gangbangers with AK-47s. Lynn would probably have followed him onto the dance floor. I think Alice was sad to see me leave when Harkin finally decided to call it an evening. As he drove away he looked at me.
"What would you have done if I decided to bring one of the ladies home with me?"
"Mr. Harkin. I'm not a chaperone or policewoman or federal agent. I don't care about your sex preferences, drug usage, or cons you're running. Those are someone else's job. My sole interest is protecting your life. So long as you stay in my sight or a room I can guard, you are free to do whatever you like."
He laughed. "All right. I don't like having a woman bodyguard, but I owe you for not leaving when I tried to ditch you. Hockey's my life and the Coyotes are important to me. The owners would have locked me out if you had left. And you were inconspicuous tonight."
He remained quiet for the rest of the ride back to his house. At home he spent some time watching hockey tapes and retired around midnight. I found a comfortable chair and pushed it to where I could see the hallway to his room and the stairs to this level.
* * *
I woke when I heard Harkin get out of bed, pushed the chair to its original position, and made myself some coffee. Just before eight I heard the FBI change of shift and, shortly afterward, the front door being unlock and opened.
"Megan, it's Wickman and Susan. Don't shoot." He didn't laugh, but he was smiling when they entered the open area that included the living, dining, and kitchen. "I'll say one thing, having you here has reduced the normal boredom. I've heard lots of rumors about Kazak Lynn. I think she has the top five slots on our Shit List, even though Ann Wohl and her people seem to like her. But you seem different."
"I'm one of Lynn's creations and use her invasive rules, but I'm Megan. Lynn and I are Kazaks but we don't have the same personality and, therefore, see life differently."
"You seem to be having fun."
"It's a fun job," I said as Harkin came walking down the hallway.
"Good morning, Mr. Harkin. What would you like for breakfast?" Susan chirped.
"What do you suggest?"
"How about eggs, cottage cheese, sausage, toast, and goat’s milk?"
"Sounds good, Susan." Harkin picked up the Arizona Republic Wickman had brought in, took a seat at the dining table, and began reading. I backed up against the wall.
"I'm going to make my rounds
of the house. Just in case someone snuck in late last night while our Kazak slept," Wickman said with a grin as he headed downstairs. The day was boring. Harkin had resigned himself to me as had his teammates and the coach. I enjoyed watching the practice on the ice and understood why anyone in the sport required the massive amount of calories. Watching sweaty men pumping iron was entertaining.
That night Harkin invited a girlfriend of his, Sean, and Sean’s lady guest for dinner. They arrived around seven. Harkin would have liked to ignore me, but the women weren't cooperating.
"Doug, what's it like having a woman following you around all day… and night?" Joy, Sean's girlfriend, asked with a twinkle in her eyes. Faye, Harkin's date, watched him closely.
"It's a pain in the ass and embarrassing besides. I now know what it would be like to be stalked." He gave me a sneer.
"I hear you invaded the men's locker room," Joy continued, with obvious enjoyment, directing the question to me.
"Interesting, if you like sweaty young muscular bodies running around half naked," I replied with a grin, although at the time I was more interested in evaluating their actions and potential hostility towards Harkin than them as men.
"You think you could sneak me in?" Joy smiled. "Please."
"Easier to sneak in an elephant than you."
Joy frowned for a minute then beamed an award-winning smile when she realized the analogy. Standing back against the wall, I was soon ignored. A lot of small talk about the team, individual players, and the upcoming playoffs. When Susan called everyone to dinner they took their places, and I backed up against a wall with a beef sandwich Susan had brought me. I think she tried to make it bland tasting, but couldn't quite bring herself to remove all the seasoning.
