Had I miscalculated? The scream from inside the building answered my unspoken question. I just barreled in; probably not the best move, but sometimes you really don’t have the opportunity to think about things like that. He was inside and I saw him in the moment of release and watched as the grenade soared up the stairs to where I assumed Fiorina had taken cover. He was wearing a U.S. Army issue flak jacket and the ubiquitous kufiyah. God love her, a second later, just as he turned to face me, the grenade bounced back down the stairs. A solid move by the green and terrified Lieutenant. I had to assume it was U.S issue as well, taken off the body of some fallen comrade-at-arms. My count was three when I pulled the trigger, dropping him hard to the ground. At four, I was rolling him towards me, on top of the grenade, the cloud of dust coming up from his lifeless body seemed surreally slow-motion. At five, I was already three stairs up the landing. Rather than tossing me like a ragdoll, the concussion just served to launch me up the stairs, where I collided with the stunned Lieutenant and the two of us crashed to the floor, my body dwarfing hers.
Laying there on top of her was the first moment I had to really catch my bearings. You know when you sort of drive your car on automatic and you don’t know how you reached your destination? Usually, combat is the same sort of deal. You do what you have to do and you don’t think about it. Thinking about it is what gets you in trouble.
Fiorina grabbed me by the face and her lips met mine. It did a lot to ease the burning sensation in my right calf. Awkwardly, I opened my eyes as her tongue pressed into my mouth, meeting her own gorgeous gaze. Like I said, awkward.
The scene ends in my mind and I realize that even those frightening minutes are one of the few things I have left of her. The beautiful woman that I keep seeing in the club is providing me with the most distraction I’ve had, and the feelings I have keep growing stronger. Why is it that I can’t bring myself to approach her?
Chapter One: Suzanne
“Can you at least give me a little warning when one of your guys is going to be over, Anjelica?” I say as the blonde turns from the door, having just kissed her beau goodbye for this week.
“I’m sorry, Suzanne,” she replies, “I didn’t know you were going to be home so early.” The Eastern-European accent that apparently drives the guys mad sometimes makes me want to punch her in that delicate nose. Of course she’s everything that I’m not; blonde, fashionably skinny, and above all else, more than willing to put it out there to get what she wants.
I throw my purse down on the couch. It’s seen better days. The couch, not the purse. I had just picked up the purse on the way home from work because Ned Weiland had decided to close the office early.
“Maybe at least keep it in your room?” I ask. I had walked into our shared apartment to find my admittedly gorgeous roommate on her knees between the legs of a man at least thirty years her senior. It was the noisy slurping sound she had been making as much as the visual that had turned my stomach; well, that and his lecherous face looking up at me with a come-hither grin like I would be jumping at the chance to join in on Anjelica’s action. It was kind of like a car accident, though. Crossing through to my room, I couldn’t tear my eyes away, even once the creep had regained his focus, his wrinkly white hands gripping her blonde head tightly, pushing those rouged lips down the contours of his cock as he endeavored to bury it in her willing throat. Most likely, I even caught the moment when his eyes rolled up in the back of his head, hips thrusting forward as I can only imagine he was giving her what he considered to be as much of a prize as his money.
While I work long hours down at the real estate office, Anjelica lives almost exclusively as a Sugar Baby. She’s tried to get me to look at the websites she uses; even signed me up at one point, but that’s just not me. There was actually a point, following my last break-up, though, that I thought about it. Well, by thinking about it I thought about the money it could bring in and the fact that maybe it would bring a guy that appreciated me for my body; but when it finally came down to brass tacks and I pictured myself in Anjelica’s shoes, or rather on Anjelica’s knees, it all fell apart.
“Will you go out with me tonight?” Anjelica asks me, fanning out a stack of large-denomination bills, her ‘allowance’ for the week; and that’s only from this one guy.
Angelica drags me out to the club usually every weekend. The usual course of events is that I say no, she pouts, and eventually I’m sitting alone in a booth while a swarm of suitors practically assaults the former model on the dance floor; that or she disappears off to a quiet closet somewhere to do more of what I’ve just unfortunately witnessed. It might be better if we didn’t go to the same nightclub every time, but of course she has a thing going with the owner down at Raza. He makes us pay for our own drinks, though, so the pussy can’t be that good, can it?
I’m too worn out from the day to try to dissuade her, so I agree. Anyway, we never leave the apartment until close to ten, so I can have a few hours to unwind before getting ready. Problem is, I’m not at all sure what I want to wear. I’m not at all like Anjelica, so it’s more about finding something flattering than something drop-dead gorgeous. If I had to wear a nametag at the club it would be ‘Suzanne, Perpetual Wingman’, or ‘girl’, though I’ve never heard it said that way before. As much as it has been in-vogue lately to pronounce that ‘I’m okay with my body the way it is!’, I’m really not. If that makes me a bad feminist, then so be it. It’s not just that I want to look good for a man, I want to feel better about myself; though I wouldn’t be especially opposed to a hot guy landing in my life right now. My last had ended badly, but that was probably more on me than on him.
The blue leggings have a hole in them. Fuck. They were the go-to for a while, showing off my legs. Even I think those are decent, a little thick for my taste, but I do catch the ogling eyes once in a while. I hold one of my longer tops up to the mirror, deciding quickly that while it may cover the hole in the leggings, it’s not a long term solution. It’s probably the best for covering the extra around the midsection I’m trying to get rid of, so it goes on the bed with the other hopefuls. I don’t even know why I’m going to the trouble.
Anjelica pops her head in, which is yet another of her annoying habits.
“Looking good, sis.” She says, glancing over at me but I know the ulterior motive as I watch her eyes scan down her own body. New shoes. Nice ones at that, nothing that I could ever afford. Shit, if I took in as much tax-free cash as she did in the last year, the last place I would be living would be a mid-range apartment in the city with a roommate that I didn’t really have anything in common with. People definitely have different priorities.
“Nice shoes, Jelica.” I say, trying to mask my disdain.
“They’re from Thomas.” She said. The disgustingly obese and pervy landlord. Once she started with him, I fully expected to get the boot, but surprisingly it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe he only considers her body worth half of the rent each month. Maybe he’s hoping for a double. I don’t know, but even the thought of it makes me want to be sick.
I try to put on my smiling face, knowing that I certainly don’t want to be looking for a new place any time soon. Things are a little tight. “They’re super cute. What do you think about this top?”
“It looks good on you, flattering.” She says. ‘Flattering’ isn’t really the compliment that I think she means it to be, because I know what she’s getting at.
“Edgar is looking for an SB for a friend of his, you know?”
“Edgar?”
“He’s the guy that…” she says, trailing off, gesturing towards the living room.
“The Crypt Keeper?” I say.
She gives me a look.
“Sorry, Anjelica.” I say. I actually mean it. My mood is certainly getting the better of me. The club might be just what I need. Maybe I’ll finally drag my ass out of the booth tonight and go after it.
Chapter Two: Avery
Chase definitely enjoys this dead end life. I
t’s around six in the evening when I show up at the club; I tend to hang out there before my shift starts because, well, I don’t have a hell of a lot else to do. It’s one of the things that I do miss about being in the Army. Routine, repetition, and above all else, clearly defined goals and measures of success. ‘Disrupt enemy communications by any means necessary’ is pretty clear-cut as opposed to being a bouncer at a night club. The better job you do, the less the management feels that you are necessary, as if the lack of theft and fighting in a place like this is just natural; nothing to do with the six-foot-plus tattooed ex-military guy with the biker beard and a rapidly-developing tattoo collection.
Now that’s one thing I don’t miss, the regulations against decorating my own damn body the way that I want. Since my ETS less than a year ago, the first sleeve is almost done and I’ve got a good start going on the second. The rest have popped up here and there. It’s one of my few vices, if you consider that a vice. Some people do. Go figure.
Anyway, I hear Chase going at it with one of the waitresses, Amber from the sounds of the moans. Hell, it’s not even a private office, just those tall cubicle walls that you see at some of the big offices, though fuck you if you think I’m ever going to end up in a place like that. Hell, even this gig is hopefully temporary as I build up some of the things I have on the side that can put my skills to better use. She’s giving him lip-service about how big and fat his cock is, and I think that he actually believes it, at least from the way he acts. It’s not even his club. Well, he’s a partner at least, but he treats it like his own little fiefdom, a short mixed-blood Hispanic despot with a God-complex. He’s grunting away like a worked-up boar, which means it won’t be long before she’ll come out looking for the next ride. I wouldn’t touch that girl with Chase’s dick. He definitely likes the stereotype; blonde, skinny, no brains.
My tastes run a little bit different. In fact, the only reason I’m still coming to this shit-hole is for a girl. Hell, I know, shit or get off the pot, and that’s normally the case, but not with this one. I’ll have to admit that I’m a little bit infatuated with this one. Normally, I’m all about that old saying that the worst she can say is ‘no’; I just don’t want that to happen, not in the least. I’d rather just long for her than be rejected by her. Almost weekly, she’s in the club, but she hardly ever dances; she just sits there and has a few drinks while her friend blows guys in the stalls. Yeah, that type. She’s actually Chase’s side-piece, but he gets pissed when I call her his hooker. “Sugar Baby.” He says. Right. It’s probably good that my Goddess doesn’t dance though. Jeez, I don’t know if I could handle watching another man touch her gorgeous skin, much less kiss those full, pink lips. Hopefully she’ll be around tonight. My mother’s voice in my head is telling me that I should talk to her, but Mom’s been gone a long time and I didn’t listen to her that well when she was around. Maybe that’s my problem.
“Bolo!” Chase says as he comes around the cubicle partition. Asshole’s still zipping up his fucking pants and I don’t offer my hand when he extends his. He grins at me, “Sorry, brother.” I hate it when he calls me that, but it’s a job, and she’ll be here tonight. I hope.
“Hey, Mack’s bringing in a new guy that might be another bouncer for us. Says he’s ex-military so I thought I’d have you check him out, sort of an interview type of thing.”
“A friend of Mack’s?” I ask, dubiously. Mack’s the bartender, a shady little fucker. He’s only been here a month or two. The last bartender was actually murdered out back while he was poking some teenaged-girl from behind. No one ever found out if it was an angry boyfriend or father or what. The cops really didn’t give a shit, they just called it ‘gang violence’ and moved on; a fact of life sometimes in the city. “Yeah, I’ll check him out Mr. Marquez.”
“Chase. Dude, how long have you worked here?” Chase says, laughing. Amber comes out from behind the partition, giving her short skirt a final tug to get it back in position.
“Hey Bolo.” She says with a wink as she’s still behind Chase’s line of sight. Figures. The girl has made so many passes at me I’ve lost count. She’s less of the ‘worst thing they can say is no’ type of girl and more of a ‘doesn’t take no for an answer’ chick. Would it be fun to bang her? Yeah, probably. Fulfilling? No. Hell, I’ve been with my fair share and I’m looking for something deeper, something more intense. Like the Goddess.
“Amber.” I say with an acknowledging nod. That’s it. I usually don’t give her much more. Doesn’t seem to discourage her though.
“That’s a fine piece of ass.” Chase says as she walks away. “And I do mean ass if you know what I mean.”
His grin makes feel a little bit queasy. “Yeah.” I say. I want to shake his hand even less.
“I want to have this new guy on the door if he works out, that way I can have you inside all the time. I think you’re the best at keeping things quiet around here.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I say. Sticking on the inside would be a big improvement. Not only would I get out of dealing with the whole line of rude guests, I’d get to see her a lot more. Bouncing around like I do I feel like I’m neglecting my responsibilities when I’m spending time eyeballing her. Besides, that is one of the things that causes friction between Chase and me. His taste in women and mine are significantly different and he objects to some of the ones I let come into the club. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t turn down any women. Every woman, at least that I’ve met so far, has something, even if it’s not visible to the naked eye. Eyes, a certain touch, even a voice. Hell, I just realized that I’ve never even heard the Goddess’s voice. I start imagining it before my thoughts are interrupted.
“He said he’d be in soon,” Chase says, looking down at his watch, “so hold tight if you can.”
“Will do.” I say, looking at my own. Shit, it’s only half-past six and the first partiers usually don’t show up till almost nine. I’ve got to get a life. Chase wanders over out to the bar, leaving me sitting by myself in the office area.
I look at my phone and there’s an email from Devin; he’s setting me up with a real gig, more in line with my background. I’m not convinced of the legality of it, but I wasn’t fully convinced of the legality of half the stuff I did when I was in the military either. As long as the money spent and it didn’t cross any of my personal ethical boundaries, it would do.
Before that happens though, I need to make a move. I don’t want to leave her in the life she seems to be living. She deserves so much more. I’m fantasizing about her a little bit when I feel the arms wrap around my neck from behind. My chair clanks back down from two to four legs on the concrete floor, pulling me away from her abruptly. She is lucky that it was a mild response.
“C’mon, Bolo.” Amber says, batting those fake eyelashes at me. “Dinner, anything?”
“Sorry Doll.” I send back, not bothering to give her an excuse. ‘If you don’t have anything nice…’ Mom’s voice in the back of my mind.
“Doesn’t Bolo mean ‘be on the lookout’?” She says, popping her gum loudly in the echoing room. It’s annoying as hell.
“Not for me.”
“Avery Boles, Bolo. So it’s just a play on the name?”
“Yeah.” I say, looking down at my phone as if I was no longer interested in talking to her. I’m not.
Not really a lie, but not the whole truth. In the Army, Bolo usually means ‘fuck-up’ in some way, shape, or form. It had fit at one time, and it had stuck, regardless of the accolades I had gathered during my service; some deserved, some definitely not. Once you’re tagged with a moniker, it’s usually there for life. My ties to people I previously served with makes that virtually guaranteed. I feel like it’s more of a symbol. What I’ve been versus what I someday hope to be, a reminder of sorts.
She shuffles off, nonplussed at my rejection, but it isn’t long before my reverie is interrupted again.
“He needs to talk to Bolo, he’ll make the final call, Mack.” Chase. H
e sounds a little pissed, as if he’s been arguing about it for a bit. I see Mack come in from the bar, that typical snotty look on his face as he drags his hopeful co-worker behind him. At least’s the guy’s not as squirrely as Mack. He definitely looks military, from the close-cropped hair to simply the way he walks in those issue desert boots, looking worn but cared for.
“You’re supposed to approve my buddy Cal for a job as a bouncer.” Mack says as they approach, as if I’m just going to sign off on the stranger.
“He can hang out with me for a bit and we’ll talk.” I say, trying to dismiss the bartender without direct words.
“Really?” Mack says, his voice tending towards the nasal.
I turn to Cal. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to throw a guy into my unit without getting to know him.”
“Fuck you, Bolo. I’ll be in the bar.”
“I respect that.” Cal says. “What unit were you in?”
“I was in MI, 24th Infantry Division.” I say.
“Military Intelligence? I thought that was an oxymoron.” Cal laughs. You know those jokes where it’s mildly funny the first time you hear it, but the thousandth time they become really dull?
“What was your MOS?” I ask, keeping my lips as expressionless as possible.
“Eleven-Bravo.” Cal fires back, proudly. Infantry. Of course; brawn over brains. I’ve known a lot of solid guys in that role over my career, but for the most part, they tend to be assholes. Everything’s a fight, there’s just no nuance.
“You ever been a bouncer before?” I ask.
His eyes and his face are telling me no as his words are telling me the opposite. Why would he lie about it? It’s not that it takes a lot of experience to do the job.
Bolo Page 2