My Protector 3
by Londonboy
“The guy in the lobby is dead isn’t he?” I had just finished my meal and Mac was still eating beside me. We had been in the air for about two hours. It was the first time we had spoken since boarding.
“I don’t know.” Mac said after a moment of silence and then he looked at me. I knew he could feel my apparent concern for the man – even if he had been trying to kill me. “I needed to make sure he did not hurt you. I also needed him to be down for a while.”
“I think he’s probably still down. He might be down for good. You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”
“Michael, this isn’t really good dinner conversation. How about another glass of wine?”
“I told you I plan on getting shit-faced.”
“You’re pretty close now.” Mac said this under his breath but I could still hear him. It was true, though. I had downed a few vodka tonics and was now on my third glass of wine. Or was it my fourth? I had no idea.
“How fucking tall are you anyway, Derby?” It was the first time I had used his real name. I also spoke a little too loudly.
“Michael, try not to be so loud, okay?” Mac looked at me with a stern face – but a face that was still unbelievably gorgeous.
“Just how fucking tall are you, Mac?” This time I leaned in towards him and whispered. We were in the first class cabin and our pod-like seats were set off by themselves in the front. I was pretty sure no one was listening to me, but I still lowered my voice.
“I’m six-eight.”
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. This caused Mac to smile. I immediately figured the big guy liked it when people were impressed with him. I let out a low whistle and took another sip of my wine. “Six fucking feet and eight inches. You’re a freaking giant.”
“Not quite, Michael.”
“You’re a whole foot taller than me, dude.” I looked at his still-smiling face and noticed that my head was beginning to spin a little. I suddenly remembered that I had taken two sleeping pills right after I finished dinner. I think the combination of alcohol, coming down from an exhaustive few hours, and, of course, the sleeping medicine was finally getting to me. “And you’re about eight fucking times bigger than me, too.”
These words were very slurred and they were the last things I remembered from the evening. The next thing I knew I was being awakened by the strong, but gentle, hand of Mac. He was shaking me slightly and telling me that we would be landing in an hour. He thought it was best if I got cleaned up and had some breakfast. I noticed immediately that my hangover was almost non-existent. I marveled at this minor miracle and then I noticed a few empty water bottles in the pocket of my pod seat.
“You gave me water didn’t you?” I asked when I returned from the bathroom, where I had shaved, brushed my teeth, and changed my shirt.
“I knew it would make the hangover less painful.”
“Thank you, it worked.” I looked at Mac and I saw that he was caught off guard by my words of gratitude. I immediately became embarrassed because I was sure the guy thought I was some rich trust-fund baby that was incredibly spoiled. I had certainly acted like it over the last twenty-four hours. I bet he thought I had never done an honest day’s work ever in my entire life. I could easily see how he would get that impression. I suddenly had the urge to make him see me in a different light. “Listen, Mac, I think we got off on the wrong track and now you have the wrong opinion of me.”
“No I don’t, Michael.”
“I think you do. You see I’m not . . .” I didn’t get to finish. He interrupted me.
“You’re not like most billionaires’ sons. I know that Michael. You’ve been on your own for many years and you give most of the money that comes to you to charity. You run a pretty big non-profit that helps people living with HIV or AIDS get medical treatment and other stuff. You’re thirty-two and have never been in a serious relationship. I’m guessing it’s because you’ve never really trusted anyone. I’m sure when you grow up as Marco Massimo’s son it can be hard to tell if people like you or they really just want a piece of your dad’s riches. And on top of all that it must be hard to know that many people don’t like your dad and wish him dead.”
This last sentence caught me off guard. I had not thought about my father in this way for years. I had merely learned how to ignore his apparent trampling of others as he climbed the ladder of success. He and my mom had divorced when I was in high school. I had lived with my mom, but was forced to spend a lot of time with my dad until I was eighteen. Now I only saw him on holidays and for those occasional ‘I need to make my son believe I love him’ dinners. I had even learned to ignore the daily articles in the paper about something he had done that was seemingly illegal, but could never be proven. I knew deep down my dad loved me, but I was definitely not the son he wished he had. I think he definitely still pined for my mother because he had never remarried, but he also always had a lady-friend on his arm. I’m sure Marco Massimo was somehow involved in the mafia, but I had never wanted to know how. Living in ignorance had worked well these thirty-two years. It suddenly hit me that Mac had just spouted off a lot of information about my life.
“I see you’ve done your homework on me. You’ve been following me for a while, haven’t you?”
“It’s my job.”
“Is someone trying to kill me to get back at my dad?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that, Michael.”
“Just answer the question, Mac. It’s can’t be that complicated.” We stared at each other for a few seconds and I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. I knew that he wanted to tell me everything, but he had to keep silent on some things. Mac was trying to show me respect, but he was also intent on protecting me.
“It’s more about what you know than who you are.”
“What does that mean? I can’t possibly know anything. I never really talk to my father. There’s got to be some kind of mistake.”
“Like I said, Michael, it’s complicated. I’ll explain it more at another time.”
I could tell by the look on Mac’s face that this was not a suggestion – it was a sign that this particular conversation had ended. It was also time to prepare for landing. I busied myself with gathering my stuff, but I also contemplated everything Mac had said. I now knew I was in danger because of something I knew about my dad. I also knew that some people were willing to kill me just because of that information. Our landing was very smooth and before I knew it we were out in front of the airport in Rome catching a cab. Mac spoke fluent Italian with a guy and I could tell they were negotiating the price for what was sounded like a long trip. Mac finally opened the door for me and shut it after I got in.
What came next was so sudden that it took me a while to register what was happening. As soon as my door shut and Mac was beginning to walk around to the other side of the car, the taxi peeled out from the station – taking me away from my protector. I started shouting at the driver and went to jump out. That’s when I noticed there were no handles on the inside and no way to roll down the window. The heavy glass between the driver and me made it impossible to get to him. The driver suddenly came to a stop because of a jam-up of cars at the exit. The driver threw the car in reverse, backed up a little, and then went up on the sidewalk. He had to stop again because a group of twenty or so nuns had just exited from a van onto the sidewalk. This guy was probably a killer, but he definitely knew he couldn’t take out a bunch of nuns at one time. He was obviously still fearful of spending eternity in hell. The slight pause brought on new troubles for the poor guy. Suddenly I heard shattering glass and saw a huge hand come through the driver’s window and grab the front of his jacket and shirt. The big man was yanked through the window so violently that the seatbelt around him merely snapped from the pressure. I looked out the window and saw Mac punch the guy in the face and the driver’s body immediately went completely limp. Mac tossed the body to the side and then reached down to open the door. He slid into the seat, tore off down the sidewalk, expertly swerved to miss the nuns, and was out into the city streets before anyone had time to register a taxi had just been stolen.
“Let me out, Mac. I want to move up to the front.” I yelled and banged on the glass between us. Mac ignored me and drove through the city at a frightening speed. He ignored stop signs and street lights just like everyone else and seemed to know exactly where he was going. I finally just sat back and closed my eyes. I knew if I watched as we narrowly missed cars and people I would probably get sick. I was feeling a lot of jetlag and still had the post-sleeping pills grogginess. I quickly fell asleep.