Security Detail
Martin Kane
Two security guards have been assigned to protect the Man.

Author's note:

Should anyone wish to contact me, you may do so via the DtV 
messageboard for readers and writers or via martinkane595@yahoo.co.uk  
Please feel free to contact me with any thoughts, comments or 
commission requests.

Copyright is mine.  I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to use this tale 
elsewhere, but please seek permission first.

If you need to be told that this is a work of fiction then you're 
surely not intelligent enough to have gotten here in the first place.  
I'll abstain from the adult content warning, if you have got this far, 
I'd hope you know what kind of thing to expect anyway.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They stood outside the door, arms folded, silent and still as statues.  
They both wore suits, though without the jacket.  It was a warm night.  
They were sentries - a strong silent presence ensuring the safety of 
the man at all times.  She wore a white blouse and sleek black skirt.  
He wore a white shirt and smart black trousers.  Both wore shades, 
both wore a gun holstered beneath their left shoulder, the gun-bra 
stretching elastic across their backs.

It was Ellen's first night on protection detail, but she was more than 
qualified for the job.  Her companion for the evening was a bulky man, 
looking the part of security guard, yet she dwarfed him.  She was six 
foot tall, so stood at equal height to her companion, but where she 
eclipsed him was muscle mass.

She'd been bodybuilding for years and the results of her efforts were 
obvious to the eye.

Her thighs, the inches of them visible below her neat hemline, were 
thick and heavily muscled.  Her calves, shapely and contoured, hard 
and smooth.  Her blouse was starched and hung tight around her torso.  
It revealed the kind of physique that displays its philosophy of 
female bodybuilding with no ambiguity: take it to the limit.  She was 
as massively developed as it was possible for her to achieve.  

Genetics had gifted her with the best in terms of structure and 
athleticism, so she'd had no hindrances or inhibitions.  She'd taken 
to weight training like she was born to it, and she'd taken it and ran 
with it, not stopping until she'd built a physique that was as 
powerful and as spectacular as was humanly possible.

Ellen's gun was a semi-auto - a bulky square thing.  Unlike most 
handguns it actually looked as heavy as it turned out to be.  It was 
chrome and gleaming - hard and powerful.  Nestled snugly against her 
armpit, it was almost lost in the acres of solid flesh.  When she let 
her arms down, the massive bulk of her biceps and triceps would 
completely conceal it from view.

They stood either side of the door, staring straight ahead.  They 
stood and guarded, protected, ready to spring into action at a 
moment's notice.  They stood and waited and didn't complain, despite 
the fact, this was, in reality a seriously fucking boring job.

But the man was a suit, and this is the way of the world.  Politics 
was an ugly business full of ugly businessmen but given its necessity 
for good appearances at all times, none of this showed in his 
demeanour.  His stylists were employed twenty-four seven and his 
security detail's job was as much to keep him away from adverse 
publicity as to keep him physically safe.

He arrived and disappeared behind the door, not even noticing the two 
muscle-bound guards standing either side of it, so inured was he to 
their continuous presence in his life that he no longer even saw then.  
He didn't even notice Ellen's extraordinary physique - probably a feat 
no other human being she had ever encountered since the age of twenty-
one had achieved.

He arrived and disappeared inside the room, behind the door.  The 
hooker went with him.

The hooker was a girl.  A tartily made-up piece of street flotsam, 
selling the only wares she had left.  Despite the sleazy use of thighs 
and tits, the hinted exposure of belly and buttocks, the overall 
effect was not erotic, but one of tragic vulnerability.  Despite her 
youth and beauty, obscured though it was by makeup that in turn 
obscured her tired and broken visage, there was a wasted element to 
her.  She looked like a doll that had been left out in the rain.  The 
skin tarnished, the paint faded and worn.  It broke your heart to see 
what she had become, but you hardly wanted to put her back on top of 
the toy-box either.

If Ellen had known the man, known his habits, she would have known 
that it was in fact that quality which he actually sought.  He hadn't 
looked at her and accepted the face value seductions of teen cleavage 
and wanton nymphet, he hadn't bought into that fantasy and accepted 
the cracks in her façade as par for the course - it was the wounded 
quality itself that he truly sought.

The door closed behind them.  But it was not soundproof.  And there 
are those who would say that such omission, though there was of course 
other factors involved here too, was responsible in some degree for 
what followed.  In actual fact, the reality was not that simple.  Or - 
paradoxically - to put it another way, it was far more simple than 
such arguments would suggest.

But such concerns are of little relevance to the man, who was just 
getting himself good and going when the door smashed open.

It was a large and solid door.  It was thick and heavy.  It was 
locked.  It was kicked with a force powerful enough to rip the very 
hinges from the frame, the very bolt from the brick.

It flew inward and landed whole and solid, torn wooden frame in long 
jagged splinters clinging to its metal clasps, crashed loudly to the 
floor between him and his security detail.

The sudden intrusion shocked the sobbing girl into silence, tears 
flowing down her face to mingle with the dribbling blood.

Ellen stood in the doorway.  She stepped forward, over the felled 
door, and towards the man, though she stopped before the huge double 
bed that was the centre-feature of this room and where both the man 
and his pay-by-the-hour companion were sat.

What the fuck?  It was on his lips but he didn't say it - too used to 
retaining absolute control in all situations, repressing all emotions 
and focusing on his presentation towards others at all times.

The other guard however, reacted (perhaps a little too late), 
following his colleague into the room.

'What the hell are you doing?' he demanded.

Ellen turned to the other guard, as if incredulous that he would need 
to ask.  Even if he were deaf through indifference, as most of the 
man's staff necessarily were, how could he also be blind to the child 
now sitting before him?

'Turn around,' she told him.  Her voice was a tone not to be ignored.

But her fellow had his own agenda to follow, and it contravened hers.

'You know I can't do that.'

And now his gun was in his hand and pointing at her face.

'Put the gun away.  Please.'  Again, the tone of one whom to obey, 
least the consequences come back on you, as they inevitably must.

'You know I can't do that.'

The gun didn't waver.  He wouldn't hesitate.  But she knew she was 
good too.  And she was.

He didn't get a shot off.  Her body went one way, her arm the other.  
He was good at his job, but she was better.  She was faster and 
stronger.  He felt his arm twisted to the side before he even realised 
she had moved.  As she stood up straight again, the locked arm was 
forced to the side, the very tendons taut, as though they were about 
to snap at any moment.

'Drop the gun,' she insisted.

She gave him almost two seconds to comply, such was her fondness and 
respect for the man.  Then she spun her weight around, wrenching the 
arm against its natural alignment and shattering the bone in four 
places.

She punched out, putting the full force of her considerable power into 
the blow, knocking him senseless.  To be sure of the task, she guided 
his fall, letting him flop forward and giving the back of his skull a 
sharp rap with the back of her elbow as he went down.  He wouldn't be 
getting up for several hours at the very least, and when he did so, 
she'd be long gone.

But for now...

The man had watched this effortless display of power and realised that 
he was actually in deep shit.  But he was also quick and ruthless.  So 
it was that when she returned her attention to him, he was still in 
the same place, still sitting on the great bed, but he now held a gun 
levelled at her head.

She was fast, she knew, but so were bullets.  She remained perfectly 
still.

The man regarded her sardonically.  He gave a sneer.  'When I find out 
who it was in my staff that allowed a security guard so deluded as to 
have a sense of morality, I'll have them fired.'

'Sir, I should just advise you that if you have any sense of self-
preservation then you'll use that gun.'

'You think I won't?'

'You make unpleasant decisions on a daily basis,' she conceded, 
'things the public can and will never know of.  But it's a whole 
different ballgame to pull your own trigger.'

Actually she didn't think he'd falter.  He hadn't risen through the 
ranks as he had by shirking unpleasant duties.

He'd go for a headshot, she told herself - he had to.  He knew all his 
security staff wore body-armour.  In fact, she didn't.  It had been 
her first night on security detail and they didn't have armour that 
fit her.  Her body was hardly conventional, a woman's sleek figure, 
but with that burgeoning wedge of huge, broad musculature.  Her 
shoulders were bigger and further apart than a footballer's pads.  It 
was little surprise they'd had nothing even remotely suitable for her 
to use.  So she'd gone on duty without protection, her measurements 
having been taken (by a very nervous and shocked Italian gentleman) 
and promised they'd get something out to her within two weeks.

Would he notice by looking at her that she wasn't wearing armour?  
Firstly her solid and massive musculature could quite easily be 
mistaken for a flat plate of kevlar.  Secondly, he hadn't paid her the 
blindest bit of attention until now, and now his focus was on her eyes 
- completely and without respite.

She moved, diving to her left, falling low.  A coiled leg, a flex of 
her thigh and she took off again.

She was actually already upon him before she released that not only 
had his shot missed her, but had in fact gone completely wild.  And 
she had her hand around his gun, his arm pinned by her own, far 
stronger one, before she realised why.

The hooker - the child.  She had also leapt at the relevant point, 
throwing her weight at his arm, throwing his aim up and to the side.

The man would have slapped her a good one for that, but for the 
bodybuilt bodyguard already upon him by then.  His arm was pinned, his 
gun held.

His bones crumpled like brittle wet chalk as she squeezed, pulping his 
hand.  When she tossed his gun away, it was stained with a thick gore, 
as though dipped first in glue and then a butcher's offal.

Ellen slapped the man, shaking his pain and shock-addled senses back 
to the here and the very real now.  She had to pull the blow somewhat 
however, knowing that in her adrenaline fuelled state she was liable 
to let loose with excessive force which could render him as 
unconscious as her fellow guard.

In truth, she simply wanted him awake for this because she wanted to 
see his fear, see the acknowledgement in his eyes.  So she would spell 
it out for him.

Holding him pinned helpless with one hand she extended her free arm to 
the side, and gave him a slow, dramatic pump of the bicep.  She flexed 
it hard, letting the peak speak for itself.

Her blouse was long-sleeved but that didn't matter because it was a 
female bicep that had to be classified as one of the largest on the 
planet.  (Indeed there are some that would describe this wonder as 
actually being the size of a planet, though they'd be using hyperbole 
- it was in reality barely topping eighteen inches.)

The sleeve could do nothing to conceal this gun when fully cocked.  In 
fact, it could barely contain it.  The cotton was stretched taut 
against her tremendous muscle, looking about to burst.  There was 
little doubt that had the blouse been only slightly smaller in the 
sleeve (we'll avoid the term "next size down" since this was a custom 
designed shirt.  Ellen hadn't bought off the rack since her early 
twenties,) then it was doubtless that the cotton would have ripped 
open, no match for such mighty bulk.

'You know what this means?' she demanded of her very shocked and very, 
very scared prisoner.  'This means you're fucked.'

As if this were actually a bad pun she turned him over then, pressing 
his front down onto the bed, his face buried in the heavy luxury 
quilt.

Ellen moved up a little, placing her knee neatly into the small of his 
back.  She then reached to his shoulders.

She turned to the teenaged hooker.  'You might not want to watch 
this,' she told her, but the girl was transfixed.  And besides, she 
felt little sympathy for the man, and certainly no empathy.

Ellen flexed.  This didn't require much in the way of strength, but an 
act of murder should never be easy.  Despite the distaste she had for 
such business, this was one man she certainly wouldn't weep over.  
Irrespective of her thoughts on capital punishment, she honestly 
believed the world was a better place for the man's absence within it.

It was a wretched and unpleasant task, and yet there was still a grim 
sense of satisfaction to be had from the long, drawn crunch that 
signalled the man's final end.  Ellen dropped the man in disgust and 
turned her attention to the girl.

'Are you OK?'

She was still tearful but she was calm.  She nodded.

'That was incredibly brave.'

'Me?' she said, shocked.  'What you did - that was incredible.'

'Ah, too many people vote for him anyway.'

'I didn't,' she murmured bitterly.

Hard to believe she was even an age to have voted.  It must have been 
a close thing.

'You may not realise it, but there is hardly anyone who'd do what you 
did.  A bare minimum of the population.'  But it was time for 
business.  'Listen to me.  I have to go now but what happens to you 
next will dictate the rest of your life.  If you go to the papers with 
your story, you can destroy a lot of people.  They will do anything 
for your silence.  Which means, they will deal with you.'

She looked suddenly frightened.

'No, I mean do a deal,' Ellen clarified quickly.  'If you handle it 
correctly, they'll give you anything to keep you quiet.  Do you 
understand?'

She nodded, but she still looked scared.

'Get a lawyer, first thing to do.  Don't say a single word to anyone, 
don't give them a thing until you've spoken to one.  Get in contact 
with the biggest firm you can, the most prestigious, the most 
expensive.'

'I don't have any money,' she protested.

'It doesn't matter.  Once they realise what they're dealing with, 
they'll bend over backwards for you.  Remember, go with the best and 
most powerful corporation you can find, they'll be the best for 
dealing with the government.  They'll also take the largest cut of 
your final arrangement but that's OK, they'll be the ones to get the 
biggest settlement anyway.  They'll also assure you get treated 
properly and doubtless ensure full immunity.

'The CIA might try to scare you - using bully tactics and such, but 
that's why you need to get yourself a heavyweight as soon as possible.  
Just stay silent and resolute until you've got one fighting your 
corner for you.  OK?'

She nodded.

'It might get a little tough, but you'll get through it and in the 
end, it'll see you right.  Once you've got your lawyer behind you, then 
you can loosen up.  They'll probably tell you the same thing I'm going 
to tell you, and that is, give them everything.  Tell them absolutely 
everything that happened here and now, including this conversation.  
Don't hide a single detail from them, with one exception: you did not 
knock his gun aside, you were sat on the bed, too scared to move.  
Which means, I leapt to my right, or your left.  Everything else, 
however, happened exactly as you remember it.  Do you understand?'

'Yes.'

Ellen smiled, and touched the girl's cheek.  'Good.  You're going to 
be fine.'

And with that she was gone, leaving this brittle young woman alone and 
in shock and realising that she forgot to say thank you.

Ellen left the man's house, knocking unconscious three further guards 
with frightening and ridiculous ease.  What was the state of the 
nation when assassination of our leaders and lawmakers can be so 
simple?  She only hoped this wasn't indicative of security throughout 
the governing bodies.

She switched vehicles and journey throughout the night.  She met a man 
for breakfast and chatted easily while the diner around them was in a 
furore over the violent assassination, only just having been reported 
in the early editions.

'You hungry or something?' he remarked, shocked at the food she was 
putting away.

'Do I look anorexic?'

He smiled.  'I guess not.'

'It funny,' she said, 'it takes thirty-four months to get into 
position, and then, in one night, the job gets done.'  Then she added.  
'And it's the easiest part of it.'

'That's just as well.  Better it went without a hitch.'

She nodded and shovelled more meat into her mouth.  'You know, what 
really pisses me off about this is the way we've martyred him.  Look 
around, this is just the tip of the iceberg.  Jesus, the fucker is 
gonna be turned into a national fucking hero.  None of what he did is 
ever gonna come out.  His record is gonna stay spotless.'

'You'd rather he stayed where he was?'

'No.  God no.  It's just that, well I mean, seriously, we're the real 
patriots in this and if we'd have got caught, we'd be fucking 
crucified.  Quite literally.  There must be something wrong there.'

'It burns you that the people can never know the truth?'

She pondered this.  'Yeah, I guess it does.'

'That's the nature of the world I'm afraid.  That's what we do for a 
living.'

'If he gets a national holiday in his honour, I'm gonna be very 
unhappy.'

'That's unlikely to happen,' he assured her.

He watched her eat a little longer while he drank his coffee.

'What else is bugging you,' he asked her finally, his voice tender.

So she told him.  She told him what she'd been thinking about right at 
that moment - a child with blood on her face.  She told him 
everything.  And she told him, 'you know what, I'm glad how this 
turned out, because I would have wanted to kill him anyway.'

He smiled as she admitted this.  'And that,' he told her, 'is why you 
do this job.'