I continued on at my own pace, patiently waiting until I was properly warm before turning up the speed. A few minutes later, I had a pretty good sweat on, and I turned to see my unfriendly neighbor was staring at me with the same peculiar look on his face. Just as I was about to ask him what his problem was, the pretty girl to my left slowed her pace to a fast walk, took out her earbuds, then looked over and spoke to the unfriendly asshole.
“Oh, there you are, honey,” she said.
“Yeah, here I am,” he said, sounding annoyed.
Now, I understood the odd visage of menace. I was in between him and his woman, and, in his mind, that was trespassing on his turf. Classic. This was just the kind of behavior that justified my theory that men had actually been devolving over the last ten thousand years, which might also explain the whole bad facial hair and beard phenomena as being a physical manifestation of our latent early caveman grooming standards. That thought was interrupted, however, when the pretty woman turned to me and smiled.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk over you,” she said.
“It’s OK, and, if I had to choose anyone here to talk over me, it would definitely be you,” I said.
She smiled.
“Well thank you. I’m Britney, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Tag.”
“And you’re American, I assume?”
“Yeah, born and raised in sunny California.”
“Me too! I’m from Orange County. How about you?”
“Nor Cal, but specifically Marin County.”
“Oh, it’s so beautiful up there! I totally want to move north, but Steve’s company won’t approve his transfer yet.”
Probably because Steve the unfriendly asshole is just as much of an unfriendly asshole at work.
“Maybe Steve should look for a new job,” I responded.
“Yeah, that’s what I keep saying,” she said, casting an annoyed look at Steve.
Steve the unfriendly asshole cleared his throat and glared at Britney before turning his attention to me.
“Do you mind moving?” he asked grumpily.
“I’m sorry—did you want to switch treadmills with me so that you could be closer to your fiancé?” I asked, having already noticed that Britney had an engagement ring.
Britney responded first.
“Don’t be ridiculous, stay where you are.”
“Are you sure? It’s no problem to switch,” I said.
“Ignore him. He’s just being a territorial asshole.”
I decided to try and be nice and take the path of least resistance.
“Hey, Steve, I’m happy to switch if it makes you more comfortable,” I said.
“No need to worry about it, Nor Cal, as I imagine you’re probably about to finish up and hit the showers, anyway.”
“Excuse me, Steve, but does he look like the type of guy who would already be hitting the showers?” Britney asked, sounding annoyed.
“There’s a difference between looking in shape and being in shape,” Steve said.
“I agree, so which one are you?” I asked.
“I’m a triathlete—so, I’m both,” he said, smiling pompously.
Triathlons were very trendy back home in Marin County and had become the new hip activity, but a friend and I once joked that they were for people who weren’t good enough to compete at either running, biking, or swimming, and were therefore relegated to only be able to do a lesser amount of all three. Joking aside, some of them were obviously kick-ass athletes, but the rigors of my Pararescue training and current workout ethic made me think very little of the territorial and unfriendly asshole on the treadmill beside me.
“Just so you know, Steve—stamina and speed are often mutually exclusive,” I said.
“Isn’t that the truth,” Britney responded, with a hint of irony in her tone that I suspected might be an insight into their sex life.
“I suggest you just worry about yourself,” he said, turning his attention back to his workout.
It appeared as though we had an unofficial challenge on our hands, and, with that in mind, I kept my pace nice and even and settled in for a long run while Steve, at his current pace, likely wouldn’t last more than another five or ten minutes at best. Honestly, I didn’t care if that fucker ran all night, for I wasn’t about to leave the treadmill until he quit, passed out, or died. I had survived Pararescue for fuck’s sake, and, in that world, giving up meant death while fighting on meant life, both to you and the person you were trying to save. It was right up there with the eternal words of Yoda—do or do not, there is no try. I looked over at the Steve and saw that he was breathing hard, pale, and working at an anaerobic level and rapidly approaching the metaphorical wall where most people’s bodies just stopped working. I, on the other hand, was feeling pretty good and decided to add a little psychological pain to his misery by sparking up a casual conversation with his fiancé. Being able to talk during exercise was a good measure of a person’s cardio, and I currently had a lot to say.
“So, what brings you to Dubai,” I asked.
“I’m just tagging along with Steve, who’s here for a sales conference.”
“That sounds a little boring for you.”
“Yeah, but at least I get to stay here.”
“True. What kind of room do you have?”
“We have the basic one bedroom suite.”
“Oh, how do you like it, Steve?” I asked, turning to my right.
He looked over, but didn’t respond, so I turned back to Britney, and she immediately answered.
“We love it! Which room did you get?”
“I’ve got one of the panoramic suites.”
“Oh my God! It must be amazing!”
“You’re welcome to see it sometime.”
“I’d love that!”
I looked at Steve and noticed he didn’t look good, and, had he not been young, I probably would have insisted that he stop running, but, unfortunately for him, pride cometh before the fall. He trained to run a couple miles on the weekend while I trained to run for my life—two very different motivations. I reached down and upped my speed until I was at a slightly faster pace than Steve.
“How’s your conference going, Steve?”
He was exerting too much to speak and again didn’t respond. We continued on for another minute or so before I sparked up yet another conversation.
“You don’t look so good, you might want to slow down,” I suggested.
“Fu—fu—fuck you,” he gasped, before stumbling and getting violently ejected onto the floor behind the treadmill.
“Steve!” Britney called out, turning off her machine and going to his side.
I did the same, and we helped him up onto his feet, only to have him brush us off.
“I’m fine!” he said, sounding annoyed.
“Fuck, Steve! You could have killed yourself!” Britney said, angrily.
“Yeah, seriously, Steve, you need to pace yourself. It’s like sex. You shouldn’t just sprint for the finish.”
“Fuck off, Nor Cal!” he said, as he left us, wobbling as he walked across the floor and disappeared into the locker room.
“I’m sorry, I should have just left it alone and gone into the weight room.”
“Wouldn’t have helped. He probably would have just followed you in there and challenged you on the bench press. He gets weirdly competitive around me.”
“What’s he making up for?”
“Personality.”
We shared a laugh, then I decided I should give her some friendly parting advice.
“Oh well, at least you’re not married yet, so there’s still plenty of time to reconsider your future with Steve,” I said.
“Yeah, I suppose there is,” she said, with a thoughtful nod as she fidgeted with her engagement ring.
“Alrighty then, I’m off to the weights, but hopefully we’ll run into each other again sometime.”
“Yeah, but hopefully without Steve.
”
We shared another laugh, then I excused myself and went to the weight room, where I did a mini circuit that focused on all the major muscle groups. Twenty minutes later, I was ready for a swim, so I headed into the locker room, took a quick rinser, then grabbed a towel and made my way over to the pool and Jacuzzi area. They ended up being in their own dedicated room, and the thirty foot ceilings and dazzling decor made me feel as though I had wandered into some sultan’s palace. The pool was rectangular and lined on two sides by rows of massive floor to ceiling columns, while the circular Jacuzzi resided just a short distance away. Filling the rest of the space were a number of plush recliners that you could take advantage of if you grew tired from all the aquatic frolicking.
I found am empty chair and left my shirt and towel on it then stepped down into the pool. The temperature was just cool enough to be refreshing, but not so cold as to be jarring. I looked down and saw a number of ripples come rolling across its perfectly smooth surface, and I looked over to see Britney swimming in my direction. She saw me and smiled and stood up.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said, her wet white two-piece bikini clinging to her tan and formidable body like a second skin.
Britney had looked pretty fit in her Lulu Lemon exercise outfit, but now that she was nearly bare, I could see that she had excellent definition in her thighs, buttocks, arms, and abdominals. Even more enticing was that she still managed to hold on to her lovely feminine curves, and her pert breasts appeared to strain against the thin fabric of her bikini top—making the dark protrusions of her pokey nipples extremely apparent.
“Yeah, and now I have to officially apologize to Steve,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“Now that I’ve seen you in that bikini, I can understand why he’s a little territorial. Sweet Lord, woman! You have the figure of a thousand and one boners!”
“Really? A thousand and one?”
“Yep.”
“What’s the one for?” she asked, with a smile.
“That one is mine, obviously.”
She smiled.
“Well, I’m sure you’re exaggerating, but thank you nonetheless.”
“I’m not, and, as someone who goes to gym regularly, I know how much work you have to put into maintaining that level of fitness.”
“Unfortunately, I live in Southern California, and staying in shape is the rule rather than the exception. It’s Pilates or perish, but, I can see that you also take your fitness pretty seriously. Are you by chance a professional athlete?”
“Only if they start a professional league for masturbating.”
She laughed.
“Seriously now, you must be some kind of athlete, considering the way you buried Steve on the treadmills. In the three years we’ve been going to the gym together, no one has ever put him in his place like that.”
“Well, I used to have pretty physical job not so long ago.”
“Meaning what? Fitness instructor?”
“No, military.”
“Ah, I bet you were a Navy SEAL.”
“No, but you’re close. I was a Parajumper—the Air Force equivalent, and, like SEALs, we operated on sea, air, and land, but we specialized in rescue operations.”
“I knew it had to be something badass like that. Did you see much action?”
“Enough for a lifetime.”
“So, what do you do now?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“Oh, is it exciting?”
“Occasionally, but it’s pretty boring a lot of the time.”
“I seriously doubt that, considering the kind of shape you’re in.”
“Nah, exercise is just my way of trying to desperately stave off the grim slide into early middle age.”
“Then whatever you’re dong is working really well.”
“Thank you, Britney. You’re too kind.”
“No, just honest.”
The sound of flip flops caught our attention, and we turned to see Steve looking annoyed as he arrived at the edge of the pool.
“Were you hitting on her?” he asked testily.
“No, we were just innocently talking with very little clothing on.”
“Dude, seriously now, you better not have been hitting on her!”
“Relax, Steve, because, fortunately for you, I’m a nice guy, and everyone knows that women as attractive as Britney generally only go for assholes.”
“Fuck you, I’m not an asshole.”
“Then stop acting like one,” Britney said.
“Yeah, Steve, stop acting like one.”
“That’s it. I’m sick of this fucker’s shit!” he said, as he started heading down the steps and into the pool.
Britney moved quickly into his path and cut him off.
“Honey, you’re still dazed from the treadmill accident. Come on, let’s go relax in the Jacuzzi.”
“No, I’m going to go teach that fucking prick a lesson.”
“Yeah, but believe me, you’ll be the only one who ends up learning anything,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“It means that you’re out of your league here.”
“Fuck that,” he said, as he barreled past her and made his way over to me.
“Look, Steve, I’m not going to fight you,” I said.
“Why? Are you a pussy?”
“Yeah, I’m a total pussy, and, more importantly, I have a serious medical condition called compassion that keeps me from laying a hand on a lesser man—regardless of how much he deserves it.”
“That’s it,” he said, as he threw a right cross straight at my face.
It was a decent punch, but I was ready and moved aside and performed a move called a block-check-counter, which entailed redirecting his fist with my right hand then grabbing it with my left. At that point it was safely away from my face and in a perfect orientation to transition to an outside hand twist that I used to maneuver his arm back and around, so that I could send Steve backwards and under the water. From there I used my other hand to grab his wrist and bring him back up and wedge his forearm in between us in a move called a California come-along. I could now see the shock on his face, but, as he recovered, he started to struggle, so I gave his wrist a little twist, and he called out in pain then stopped moving.
“Alrighty then, Steve, it’s time to calm down and salvage your relationship with your fiancé, and, least of all, the continued use of your right hand. Understand?” I asked.
“Fuck you,” he said, once again trying to struggle free.
I gave his wrist a little twist, and he stopped moving and looked at me.
“Fine, I understand,” he said, in an annoyed tone.
“Good, because you threw a right punch, so I’m pretty sure you’re right handed and therefore also masturbate with your right hand—the very same hand which could end up being your only date this evening if you don’t calm the fuck down and start acting like an adult. Now, I’m going to release this very important hand of yours, so that you and I can share a gentlemanly handshake that will hopefully make you look as though you’ve suddenly matured. Assuming your beautiful fiancé believes this has actually occurred, you will hopefully be able to leave this embarrassing moment behind and go join her in the Jacuzzi. Sound good?”
“Yes,” he said, sounding resolved though not entirely happy.
“OK, then,” I said, as I released his hand.
We shook hands, and I looked over at Britney.
“It’s OK now. Everything is good. Steve and I were just playing around,” I said.
“It didn’t look like he was playing,” she said, sounding equal parts annoyed and embarrassed.
Before I released Steve’s hand, I decided to deliver some parting wisdom.
“You know, Steve, if you think men are checking out your fiancé, it should make you feel good, because it means you’re a very lucky man that she would choose to be with you. On the ot
her hand, your insecurity and tendency to be reactionary is highly unattractive and will make this and any future relationships short-lived.”
“Whatever,” he said, as he walked towards Britney but stumbled a little, as he was still feeling a bit faint.
“Come on, let’s go relax, killer” Britney said, as she guided Steve up the steps, where she looked back over her shoulder at the last minute to silently mouth the words thank you.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Linen Gorilla
BRITNEY AND STEVE left, and that meant I was free to do twenty quick laps before exiting the pool to dry off. I slipped on my T-shirt, and, on my way out, happened to venture past the Jacuzzi.
“It was nice meeting you, and remember what I said, Britney—there’s still plenty of time.”
Britney smiled, but Steve glared and lifted his hand out of the water and gave me the finger. I gave him a departing smile and headed for the elevator, where I was joined by an unusually buff Arabic man in a white linen suit. He had the obligatory Middle Eastern beard and kept his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a gold medallion and a dense thicket of chest hair. He also reeked of cologne, and, while it was annoying, it was nowhere near as annoying as his extremely annoying habit of staring at me while we waited for the elevator to arrive. I gave him a friendly smile and a nod in hopes of appeasing him, but he continued to keep his eyes glued to me. Oh well, perhaps he didn’t like infidels.
The doors opened, and we joined a middle aged Japanese couple, who politely nodded and said hello. I said hello back, then we all followed the usual elevator etiquette and looked towards the door. Well, everyone except for the linen gorilla, whose eyes were still on me, and I had to wonder how I had somehow become the object of his attention. The Japanese couple exited on the fourteenth floor, and I was left alone with the gawking primate, whose presence, along with the little episode back in the gym, was starting to give me the feeling that this was going to be one of those days.
“I’m sorry, do we perhaps know each other?” I asked.
“No, but I have a message for you,” he said, as his reached for the pistol he was carrying in his shoulder holster.
Gordita Conspiracy Page 21
