Bad Girl Pt. 01 by BigMadStork,BigMadStork

by

The guard is flustered, but in the end, opens the door, calls for backup, and we take the elevator to the fourth floor. We pound on the door. Nothing. The man finds the key and opens the apartment. I see my daughter on the ground.”

The doorman has already dialed 911, “Yes, we have a health emergency at 4322 Main Street, Queens, room 403. I will let them in. It also looks like a break-in happened. We need both the paramedics and police, quick. Yes, I will stay on the phone.”

Meanwhile, the second bodyguard is looking at my daughter.

He says, “No blood or needle marks in the standard locations. It could be pills or alcohol. Where’s the boyfriend? This didn’t happen today. Those stains are dried.”

The other one says, holding up a cell phone and wallet, “Boyfriends. That’s odd.”

Quickly, he checks the rest of the house. No body. What the hell happened here. As the police come in, he puts the phone and wallet in his pocket.

They don’t see anything wrong with Vickie, so they cart her out, and I ride along to the hospital with my baby. I don’t have to even ask; I know their company is now looking for William, or is it, Bill. Hell, she has had so many boyfriends, I don’t even bother trying to remember.

Now that I think of it, she’s had this one for a full six months. That’s a record for her. I can understand that. My oh my, that boy was a hell of a man. I have never met someone that could intimidate me and then use his smile to charm me in a matter of a minute. He was one hell of a man. What scares him? They need more men. I know he was military. If something frightened him so much that he left his wallet, mmmm. I hate to meet that group.

+++++

FBI Agent Mark Johnson’s Point of View:

I am so frustrated, “What do you mean I can’t get his records? I’m the fucking FBI!”

The lady in records fears me, “Look, look, mister. I have access to a computer. I look up records for the FBI, and I tell you what I see. Neither you nor I have Top Secret R3 level access.”

I scoff at her, “R3, you’re just making that up.”

Now I’ve pissed her off, “LOOK HERE, BOY! I can read a fucking screen; it says Top Secret R3 level access required. Top Secret is too broad, so recently, they added different classifications and levels. “R” is field operations. That means your boy did some top-level shit that nobody should know about. The “3” means that you pretty much need to be the president or in the Pentagon to know that shit. You ain’t either, boy. Either you need a friend much higher, or you need to look for someone more ordinary.”

I smile, “I believe that you just answered my question.”

She gets in the last word, “Next time start with the right question then, dipshit,” and she hung up on me.

Fucking rich people. Someone has sent death threats to the owner of the company that controls a bunch of spy satellites. I am now her bodyguard. The phone I took is ringing. It’s locked, so I can’t answer the phone. However, it says that Spencer Wilson is calling and that caller ID shows the phone number, nice. Tonight, I think the boys and I are going out.

+++++

Spencer Wilson’s point of view:

I have just finished dinner, and I say to my wife in a whisper, “I had a crappy day. Lots of work and walking. I’m chasing a man bigger than Bigfoot, and nobody has seen him in a few days now. It’s like he just disappeared off the face of the earth. How about we go upstairs and play hide the sausage.”

My wife giggles, “Oh dear, you’re such a child at times. Yet I can’t resist you even to this day. The dishes can wait until tomorrow.”

My doorbell rings. Fuck. My wife answers the door.

Four men from the FBI are at my door, showing my wife their badges. What does she say?

My ever-loving wife says with a straight face to the FBI, “Isn’t it a little early for you boys to be trick-or-treating?”

I laugh my ass off as I walk to the front door and have them come in. I would bet anything; this has to do with Bill. His family is worth too much money.

Agent Johnson says, “You called a phone today at about 3:30 PM local time.”

I counter, “Why do you have his phone, and why can’t you answer it? You don’t know where he is either.”

Agent Johnson asks, “Either? As in you’re looking for him?”

I ask, “What case are you guys working on?”

Agent Johnson replies, “A young woman was found unconscious today. Her mother is a high-profile target that’s been getting death threats. The place looks like a war zone, and his wallet and phone were found at the scene. We obviously want to know what happened; we just want to talk.”

I chuckle; that makes them all nervous.

I tell him, “You’re working for Vickie’s mother. I’m working for Bill’s mother. Vickie’s mother has her daughter; my client doesn’t know where her son is. I can’t get shit on him; his file is closed, and I have better access than you do. I know they were both at NSA, Natalie’s Sexual Adventure. It appears she did not explain how the night was going to go down.

“This is a good kid. He passed up sex with several women because he was in love. We know that his being under-informed caused her to get a permanent ban which likely made her mad. I’m going with the theory that he is heartbroken and doesn’t want to be found so he can wallow in self-pity.

“The kid is huge, six foot six inches, with a huge, ripped body and good looks. Women throw themselves at him, and yet, nobody has seen him. That tells me everyone loves him, and they won’t rat him out, or he is hiding somewhere and doesn’t want to be found. A kid that big stands out. People remember him. I gave you a lot; how can you help me?”

Agent Wilson shakes his head, “You’re far ahead of me. What can I do to help you? We’re chasing the same guy.”

I suggest, “Weekly, show posters to all the food kitchens and shelters. When it gets cold, he may come in. Check on the daughter. Something is off here. He’s a great guy that’s in love by all accounts. I mean, he passes up a group of women because he’s dedicated to Vickie. Maybe both parents can flood the TV with missing person ads. Put up a reward.”

With firm resolve, “If you catch him, be VERY careful. He is a killer. I feel it in my gut. His mother’s sister saw him bend a non-bendable bar and break chains. She saw the scars of battle on his naked body. He flew into a rage and took out two guys while his hands were chained to a small steel bar. This dude is dangerous. Use women.”

Agent Johnson raises an eyebrow.

I continue, “The sister says he knocked one guy out and disabled a second guy with just his feet. The owner walks up to him, and they walk off hand in hand. He is a gentleman. That’s what leads me to believe there is something hidden with Vickie. Do your homework, and let’s talk in two days unless something big happens. Here’s my card.”

As soon as the FBI leaves, my wife asks me, “Are you over your head on this? Is he going to take you out?”

I ease her fears, “He is a gentle man. You push him, and his hammer is ten times anything else that exists. My plan is to use no weapons; I will only talk to him. If I threaten him, you will never see me again. My grand plan … I will call his mother.”

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