The Nasty Business of a Bodyguard by Elijah Douresseau (top books of all time TXT) 📕

The chef followed the observant bodyguard and stepped in the hallway.

Heading into the foyer, a feeling overcame Alvin. It was like being caught in the overwhelming sensation of something very persuasive. Something much bigger than himself.

There were two instances in which he felt that way. Church and a music concert. Being swept up by a wave of spiritual euphoria, his body would jolt this way and that. His insides. He was also capable of seeing things he otherwise would have never know were there.

The knowledge that came to Alvin that very second, that probably would have been a logistical concern for him under more plain circumstances: If the dinner was so important, if it were a defining moment in her major crime career, would not Coco put the cook in charge of a sous chef to help with something so monumental? Or at least she would have put him over a team of servers to increase Alvin’s limbs and make them more effective.

It was just him.

He did have to admit, in those short minutes before he entered the event hall, the concern about him being alone was a little late in materializing itself. Futile, was more like it. But the lack of additional staff was just enough for him to be certain he was entering something very bad.

Instantly, the terror was realized.

The goon who had paid Alvin a visit in the kitchen yesterday was in a bloody mound in the middle of the table formation.

The esteemed were all there. Watching the ordeal – warmness in their cheeks. They were just watching some movie. Being entertained.

Alvin, thanks to the guard who fetched him, was already on alert about his body betraying his mind. So he tried his best to play it cool. Like, Coco was a date he could not wait to see.

On sight, the cook went the nonchalant route – to avoid his most agonizing of desires being earnestly expressed.

“Here he is. This is the talented cook I keep bragging about. Alvin Gates.”

The chef caught himself looking down too much, but at the mention of his name, he looked up. The very dangerous people, who would allow the murder scene to ensue, were looking him. Smiling. Expectant. Hungry, he could tell. Though, understanding how they could have appetites was beyond him, as the beaten guard struggled to breathe and stay alive.

And there was Coco. In the middle of the dining tables. It was apparent she committed the savage act of busting up the guard. Alvin’s now healed eye from his client’s tantrum months ago throbbed at the terrible sight.

She was playing around at the tasting. In more ways than one. Her evening gown stopped Alvin his tracks. He literally paused from prepping the plates and forgot she was in the middle of murdering someone. For a second.

Coco was easily the best-looking person in the room. There was no contention. There would never be concern for such a thing. The other men, in a relatively wide spectrum of age represented, in their tuxedos and high-end suits, looked as if they were background dancers in a music video of hers.

The villain’s arms were what should have been the focal point of the entire scene. Noticing them – rather – being the next thing to take in and digest as best he could, Alvin observed that Coco’s arms were encased in robot arms. That was the best he could visually surmise it. A robot, somewhere, was a sad amputee, because his boss got curious, and then violent.

The new limbs were an impressive collection of pistons and charging mechanisms, up to here shoulder blades. And the surface of the material of the arms…it appeared as if the harsh metal was the hardest things to wedge your flesh into. And yet, the shine and subtlety of where the artificial arms ended and where her human skin began was difficult to discern.

The metal wrapped and covered her arms seamlessly. Tailor-made to fit her alone, it seemed. Soft and breathable to the wielder, but anyone on the business end would not appreciate the luxury. And whatever those arms were made of, there was not a spec, a rivulet of blood on Coco’s knuckles. Stainless. Probably massively expensive. Beyond measure to anyone who had taxes taken out of their weekly paychecks.

Who were these people?

Who was Coco? That she would have enough coin to create a fully functioning set prop from a sci-fi, superhero blockbuster that did not exist yet?

“Al, please, don’t keep our guests waiting. I have a lot riding on the reception of your food,” to the guests’ laughter.

“Yes. Of course. Forgive me.”

Coco was in that rare mood once more. Serene. Only a couple of cares in the world. But you were assured she was assured it would be all right. And then a flicker of something else. Almost jovial. Maniacal. Defiant. And she could not help but smile about the whole thing.

“I wanted to impress you guys. You all have your favorites. Or, what I know you’re very fond of eating.”

Alvin was nearly done serving. And he heard a squelching sound. Something frantic.

“What’s his problem?”

The brutalized guard was trying to speak. What was more alarming, he was looking at the chef.

The cook quickly averted his eyes and busied himself with his service – as Coco turned around to address the interruption.

“You must teach your detail some manners, Coco.”

In a few seconds, there were on-sided thuds and crunches. A pained groan echoed through the hall. What otherworldly violence could have produced that awful sound?

It took every fiber of Alvin not to tip over the bowl he was holding. His soul was wincing for the soon-to-be dead guard.

“Sorry about that. Now, Al has been working himself into an early grave on these special dishes, for this special occasion.”

Was it okay to look up? He had to do his job. They went back to food. It was what he came for.

Though he started to resume his eye contact with the distinguished in the