The Bodyguard

by Sean Rodman

  A few minutes later, clipboards in hand, Alex and I are sitting on the grass. We stare at a big oak tree at the edge of the back field.

  “How about you draw and I take a nap?” says Alex. “Because I got nothing. I am not vibing this tree.” He tosses his clipboard to the side and flops on his back.

  I pull my video camera out. I frame up Alex and hit Record. “Hey, you know that new Markus kid?”

  Alex grunts from under the baseball cap he has pulled down over his face.

  “He wants to pay me to be his bodyguard.”

  There’s a muffled snort from Alex. I move the camera away from him, switching focus to a couple of kids running track in the distance.

  “Like, real money,” I say. “A hundred and twenty-five dollars a week.”

  “To be his bodyguard? What do you have to do for it?” Alex sits up and looks at me seriously. “Do you have to take a bullet for him?”

  “Shut up. I know it sounds weird. Markus had a bad first day, got a little roughed up. I helped him out. Now he just wants me to hang around and look tough, I think.”

  Actually, I’m not entirely sure what Markus is expecting. Does he think I’m going to stand guard at his house all night? He’s not that crazy. Is he? I shake my head.

  “I’m just going to be like a security guard, I think,” I say.

  “Or a security blanket. Sounds like this new kid just bought himself a friend.”

  “Again, shut up.”

  In science class Alex fiddles with his Bunsen burner, turning it from a flapping yellow flame to a tight blue triangle. He turns to me, peering through his clear plastic protective goggles. With his massive frame squeezed into a little white lab coat, Alex looks like he mugged a scientist.

  “This bodyguard gig. You need to be with him all the time?”

  I nod. “At school, for sure. After school, I guess. I figure I’ll do it for a couple weeks, make some money, then cut him loose.”

  “I guess it’s all right for a babysitting gig,” Alex says. “Wait, what about my party tonight? Does this mean you can’t come?”

  Just then Mr. Rupert walks by our table. We focus on the blue liquid in a test tube that’s starting to turn a shade of pink. Apparently, that’s what is supposed to happen, because Mr. Rupert congratulates us and moves on to the next group.

  “Aw, crap.” I sigh. Alex is throwing a banger tonight, while his family is away. It is going to be epic. His house has a big pool and has been the site of several legendary parties. Somehow his parents have never heard about them. “I’ll talk to Markus.”

  “You cannot miss the party. Everyone is going to be there.” Alex leans in so close his goggles are touching mine. Alex puts on a wheezy accent, like a mean old grandpa. “You are like a brother to me. This is about family.”

  “Stop being weird.”

  “You missed the reference. I’ve been watching those old Godfather movies. Like you told me to! You’re right—they’re really good.” Alex turns on the accent again. “You better come tonight. It is an offer you cannot refuse.”

  Chapter Seven

  Markus is sitting by himself in the cafeteria. His fancy clothes still look rumpled from this morning’s hold-up. He’s studying the screen of his laptop with a serious look. That changes when he looks up and sees me.

  “Ripley!” he says, a smile breaking across his face. “I am so glad to see you.”

  “Uh-huh.” I put my tray down across from him and sit. “Let me clear something up. It’s Replay, all right? Not Reply or Ripley or whatever. Replay.”

  Markus’s eyebrows squish together. “Replay? That does not make sense.”

  “It’s a nickname, because I like to film stuff with my camera. I make movies for my friends about football or school or whatever. People say I’m in charge of the replay, so everyone can see what happened.” I pull out my camera and show him some game footage on the tiny screen.

  “Ah. You are like…” Markus pauses to think. “Like Steven Spielberg. Or J.J. Abrams.” He looks at me carefully. “If they played football?”

  “No, I’m nothing like those guys. I just mess around. Anyways, this deal we have. I want to get clear on a couple things. First, I’m going to be off duty sometimes. You know that, right?”

  Markus closes the lid of his laptop. He picks up a paper cup of coffee and takes a sip.

  “I pay you to be my bodyguard all the time.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like I’m going to sleep over at your house.”

  “Sleep over?” Markus looks surprised. “No. I am not a child. You meet me in the morning, we walk to school. When I am not in class, you are here. After school we are together.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve got football practice or training most nights.”

  “Then I will come to the field. Maybe I could train with you?”

  I put my elbows on the table and rub my eyes. “We need to set some ground rules. Tonight, for example, I have to be somewhere.”

  “I will come with you. Where?”

  “It’s a party at my friend Alex’s house. You wouldn’t like it.”

  Markus crosses his arms. “A party? I think you do not take your job seriously.”

  “Yeah, that’s another thing. I was being honest with you before. I really think you don’t need my protection all the time. That trench-coat kid won’t bug you again. You’ll be—”

  “Stop,” says Markus. He motions for me to come closer. Then closer. We end up leaning together over our plates of food, which smell of broccoli and soap. He whispers, “I do need your protection. There is someone who wants to kill me.”

  We stare intently at each other. “Who?” I ask.

  “The Plunger,” whispers Markus.

  I sigh. “You’re saying a homicidal plumber wants to take you out?”

  “I can’t explain more,” hisses Markus, “but I must be with you all the time. Even tonight.” His eyes are intent on mine, his face pinched.

  “All right, you and your craziness can come to the party. Just wear something more…” I wave at his fancy jacket and shirt. “Just chill. You need more chill.”

  Chapter Eight

  We walk alongside the cars that line the quiet street. Shadowy tree arms reach over us. Even from a block away I can hear the thump-thump of music from Alex’s house. I look at Markus and inspect him again.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to change? I can drive you back to your house.”

  “It is cool. Yes.” Markus seems distracted, scanning the street around us with birdlike movements. He’s wearing an expensive white shirt, black dress pants and shiny leather shoes. The overall effect is more “May I take your order?” than “Let’s party!” Whatever. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.

  “All right, let’s go over the play again. You can stay with me, just keep it low-key. We get in, stick around for an hour, get out, nobody gets hurt. If anything goes sideways I’m going to call an audible, and you better follow.”

  Markus shoots me a puzzled look.

  “It means that I’m the one calling the shots, and I can change the plan on the fly. If things are going really well, we might stay longer. If not, we’ll bail. Either way, you do as I say. Okay?”

  “Okay to the calling of an audible, I think,” says Markus slowly. “You know, the English here is not what I learned in school.”

  We arrive. You can tell Alex’s dad owns a big construction firm. The house has massive sandstone walls, a terracotta roof, a fancy wrought-iron gate around the whole thing. We can hear the music more clearly now, as well as the sounds of splashing from the pool around back.

  “I must warn you,” says Markus as we close the gate behind us and start walking up toward the big wooden door. “When I am nervous, I start to talk very much. I feel like I must make people impressed with me.”

  “I noticed that the other day,” I say. “Don’t do that.”

  Before I can say anything else, the door swings open. It’s Emily. “Replay, you made it!
” She throws her arms around me, then steps back and looks at Markus. “And here you are too.” He bows to her, and Emily widens her eyes at me. “Well, that’s more like it. Come on in.”

  The living room is packed. People are spilling out through open patio doors onto the pool deck. Alex has set himself up behind a pair of turntables. A stack of speakers flanks him on either side. He flashes a grin at me, then gets back to work on the beats. This party definitely has all the ingredients to be legendary.

  Markus stays close to me as I drift around from group to group. I get into a detailed conversation with a linebacker, Curtis, about sack rates versus finishing drives. And the odds on the Patriots making it to the Super Bowl this year. When I look around, I spot Markus talking to a kid from my biology class. It’s clearly a one-sided conversation. Markus is probably bragging about his poker days again. Fine. If he has found a semi-willing victim for his stories, I’m okay with that. I’m glad to be free of him for a little while. I can feel my shoulders unclench a little. This is working out.

  The first sign of trouble comes about an hour into the party. I’ve pulled out my camera, and I’m getting some great footage. With a killer soundtrack underneath it, I can edit this into an awesome sequence. Then I overhear loud voices from the other side of the pool. It’s Markus and Alex.

  “I’m impressed,” Alex is saying. “You don’t seem the gangster type. And I’ve seen all the Godfather movies, so I’m all up on that.”

  “No, I am most gangster! Like I tell you, I spend time with real gangsters every day back home. But not Italian mob. Russian. I play poker with them. High stakes.” Markus is speaking louder and louder, and I can see sweat stains creeping through his white waiter shirt. “I am one bad dude.”

  There’s a crowd starting to form around them. “You do seem pretty bad,” says one girl. “What were these poker games like? You have to fight for your life with a bunch of killers?” She makes her fingers into pistols and points them at Markus, smiling.

  Markus completely misses the sarcasm in her voice. “It was online poker, so I did not meet the gangsters mostly. I met only one for real. But…” Markus hesitates. “I am certain he was a killer.”

  I can see this is a bad situation that is only going to get worse. I walk close to Markus and hiss, “You’re talking too much. I’m calling an audible. Let’s get out of here.”

  “No,” says Markus firmly. “I am your boss, and I am fine.” He even puts a hand on my chest and gently pushes me away.

  Whatever. Keep talking, buddy.

  “Did your killer have a good mob name?” asks Alex. “Like Scarface?”

  “This was Russian mob,” Markus continues. “He was the son of a vor, a boss. They called him…the Plunger.”

  Here we go.

  “That is a terrible name for a gangster,” Alex says. “Like, the thing you use to unplug a toilet?”

  “No. The Plunger got his name because he liked to drown his victims by plunging them into the Hudson River,” Markus says dramatically.

  “Hold up,” says Emily. “Where did you say you came from? Isn’t the Hudson in…?” Nobody hears her though. They’re all paying attention to Markus. But he is getting more and more agitated. His white shirt now has big rings of sweat under the armpits. His hair stands on end as he nervously rakes a hand through it. The owl-like glasses are fogging up.

  Markus raises his voice. “I double-crossed the Plunger in a poker game. Cheated him of all his money. It was like taking a piece of cake from a baby.” His braces twinkle in the patio lights, and spittle flies from his lips.

  “Yeah, you seem like a real tough guy,” says Curtis, the big linebacker I was talking to earlier. He turns to me. “Where did this jerk come from? Who let him in?”

  I look at Markus, then to Curtis. “I have no idea. Never saw him before tonight.” I didn’t think Markus could hear me. But the look Markus shoots my way makes it clear that he did.

  “Yo, Alex!” yells Curtis. “Turn up the tunes. I’ve had enough of this guy’s crap.” The crowd starts to drift away as the bass thumps louder. Eventually Markus is left all alone. He slumps down onto a deck chair.

  “They don’t believe me,” says Markus. “They don’t like me.” He lifts his head and looks at me with sad eyes. “You don’t like me.”

  “Listen, Markus.” I rub the back of my neck. “You’re paying me to be your bodyguard, not to like you. I can’t help you on that front. Not when you go around bragging and making up crazy shit like that.”

  His face crumples and drains of color.

  “Markus, that was a little harsh,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry—”

  Markus suddenly stands and pushes his way through the crowd to the front door. He’s gone into the darkness before I can catch him.

  “What’s up with your freaky little buddy?” says Alex, dislodging himself from the crowd to stand beside me. I shrug.

  “Well, you should probably go get him.” Alex pats me on the back. “You’re on his payroll, right?”

  “I don’t care about the money. You can’t pay me enough to deal with this.”

  Alex says, “Seriously, dude? You’re going to just let him go? That’s cold.” I guess he’s right. As I leave the house, I hear Alex shout after me, “You should really ask for a raise!”

  Chapter Nine

  It should be easy to spot him. Pools of light from the streetlamps dot the road in either direction. It’s quiet except for the gentle rush of wind through the leaves of oak trees.

  Then I hear the slap-slap of shoes hitting pavement. He’s about a block away, running hard down the sidewalk. I shake my head again. I’m really not getting paid enough for this. I switch into sprint mode. He’s no match for me. I’ve almost caught up as he reaches the next intersection.

  “Markus!” I shout.

  I see him hesitate and then come to a stop in the middle of the road. He turns around to squint back at me. All of a sudden Markus is illuminated by a bright white light. There’s a low mechanical hum. A big black Lexus comes roaring out of the darkness. Straight at Markus.

  He swivels around to stare at the oncoming car. He raises his arms up, like he can shield himself from the two tons of vehicle that’s about to crush him.

  With a surge of adrenaline and speed, I cover the distance between us in seconds. I launch myself into the air and tackle Markus. We tumble to the other side of the road just as the black Lexus rushes by, tires screeching on the pavement.

  I roll away from Markus and sit up. My left arm aches where I hit the pavement hard. The Lexus is paused just past the intersection, idling. The windows are rolled down, and I can see the driver staring at me. But he’s in the shadows. I’m under a bright streetlight. I can’t make out what he looks like. No doubt he got a good look at me. He kicks the car into gear and takes off. Exhaust stings my nose.

  Markus groans, still lying on the street. He has a cut on his forehead that’s oozing bright red blood. “That was him,” says Markus. “The Plunger.”

  We limp back to Alex’s house, nervously listening for the sound of the Lexus. But it doesn’t return to finish us off. This time when we knock, it’s Alex who answers the door.

  “Whoa. You guys get into a dustup?” he says when he sees us. Markus has a bloody hand pressed against the wound on his head. I’m cradling my injured arm.

  “No, it wasn’t me versus him,” I say. “It was car versus us.” I glare at Markus. “I think there are a few more stories we need to hear. Can we come in?”

  Little red drops of blood speckle the white tile of the master bathroom.

  “Can you wipe that up?” Alex says to me. He’s busy sticking a fat bandage across Markus’s forehead. “You know, if my DJ career doesn’t work out, I might just become a doctor. I’m damn good at this.”

  Markus doesn’t look so certain. He squirms on the bathroom floor as Alex works on him. Emily hands me some tissue, and I wipe up the blood. “So there really is someone out to get you?” I ask Markus
.

  Markus rolls his eyes, then winces. “It is what I have told you all the time. I tell you all the truth.”

  “Hang on,” says Emily. “You said this Russian guy specializes in drowning people in the Hudson. That’s like, New York City.”

  “Jersey, actually,” mumbles Markus.

  “Fine. Either way, it’s nowhere near Estonia.” She crosses her arms and looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

  “Emily, he said he was from Narnia,” says Alex. He turns to me. “I didn’t think it was a real place either. Isn’t that what you said?”

  I nod.

  It’s Emily’s turn to roll her eyes. “You’re both idiots.” She turns her attention back to Markus, who’s looking sheepish. “So what’s the real deal, Mr. Estonia? Or Mr. Jersey?”

  “I told you the truth before,” he says plaintively, “Only now I will tell you more truth.”

  “The more truth, the better.”

  Markus shifts around on the bathroom floor, trying to get comfortable. “My parents are from Estonia, but we moved to Jersey three years ago, after my father got a job there. It was very lonely. I am the only child in my family, and it was difficult for me to make friends.”

  “I can see that,” I say. “No offense.”

  Markus shrugs. “So I spent much time doing two things. Playing games online, mainly poker on websites. And programming computers. Writing code. Then I discovered I could combine both things.”

  “I think I see where this is going,” says Alex. He packs the medical kit back into a little red bag. “You’re a… poker hacker?”

  Markus pauses, then nods. “That is a good description. I learned how to write a program that let me—”

  “Cheat?” says Emily.

  “Not cheat. I did not break the law. My program let me predict what other players were probably going to do. I was able to win many games. And make much money.”

  That explained the nice clothes. The fact that he could afford a bodyguard.