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

dangerous than any of the others who inflicted pain for a living. But he had access to her. The top dog. The spicy, king-sized enchilada. And she planned to see him again. No doubt, a decent portion of the reason he was still alive, after being on the team to bring her down.

What would the chef do when they reunited? Stop her?

His food had been made into munitions before.

He needed information.

Where was she? Who was she with? What was she planning to do? Who was cooking for her?

Alvin needed to know what the bad guy knew.

That meant he could not be subtle anymore. About what – he was not sure.

What the heck was he going to do? Break the law?

That was on the list. He was sure he could not go back to the people the Government officially said were strictly prohibited, while letting him keep his freedom. Some of his freedom.

The cook nearly worked a half hour after his shift was over, working things over in his head. Several different ways. Then he would scratch out all the alternatives and outcomes and would start over.

Once his manger realized he was over his shift time, and repeated more than once he was not getting paid extra, Alvin was out of the door. He was not any closer to foiling Coco’s dastardly plot.

“Good evening, Joseph. Al.”

The recently familiar voice whispered the second name with a less than pleasant chuckle. The worst inside joke. Alvin’s new friend had returned.

The off-work cook quickened his pace. Only to keep up an appearance. He was sure his companion relished it.

“What’s the hurry? Can I buy you dinner?”

“No, thanks. I’m quite sick of food right now.”

That amused him. He also had no intention of catching up with Alvin. He only stayed in tow, matching Alvin’s step. It was creepy. A tactic the cook was sure was not a happenstance maneuver.

“Are you allowed to say that? You know…with what you do?”

Alvin was getting close to his place. The guy probably knew where he stayed, but Alvin would not give him the satisfaction of walking them all the way there.

“You’d be surprised,” as the chef stopped and turned around to his pursuer. He caught the man off guard. He was right behind Alvin. He had to catch himself from running into Alvin’s chest. He was also a smaller man.

His appearance was different this time. Closer to what Alvin would expect someone in his line of work to dress up in. It was a cloak of some kind. Dark-colored, with hood to mask the identity a smidge, and particularly large sleeves.

“After a while, it’s just fuel. Just pastel paints for a canvas.”

“Even when you’re tired, you are still an artist. Astounding!”

“Keep your voice down. What do you want?”

Alvin did not take bad guys for much of fanboys. But he was certain he was going to have the upper hand in the developing exchange. All the better to get the information he needed.

“I apologize. I assure you, I am no creep.”

Awkward stares passed between the two.

“Not much of one.”

“What’s your name again?”

“I never gave it the other day. Call me Pharaoh.”

He was serious. What could he do that was as formidable as his ruler namesake? Alvin would play ball.

“So Pharaoh, if you tracked me down, how many people know who and where I am?”

“Plenty. Most likely. You have made a name for yourself. And all this business is truly exhausting. It makes me hungry.”

“I believe Postmates is a twenty-four hour service, bruh. Excuse me.”

Pharaoh stepped in Alvin’s way. It was clear he had the means, but he was not connected. He would have sent henchmen to make contact with the chef first, if he was really something of note.

“What was she like?”

“Who?”

“Coco. Is she truly ruthless?”

“Let’s just say I make sure I pass her the sea salt shaker or the parmesan if she asks for it.”

Alvin tried to step past Pharaoh, but he just stood there – no offense taken, just too plugged in to their conversation to commit to taking another action.

“Is she looking for any…constituents?”

“Partners?”

“In crime, you might say?”

Dude was a regal cornball. Coco would turn cannibal and eat him alive.

“You said it. But trust me, Coco would very much rather work alone.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“I am sure you miss having a boss who respects your culinary form.”

Alvin just might have taken a sample of Pharaoh for himself. He was in his pocket. The chef was the one who held the power of persuasion as the initiated upon.

“I don’t think I should be looking for work. You know my current situation. I really should be going home.”

The chef was allowed to walk past Pharaoh a second time. A darkness set in over the working villain’s face as he decided what to do next.

From behind Alvin, “I am sorry, Al. I must be firm in this.”

Alvin turned to see a different Pharaoh. He had a snarl to his presence. What was more, he was playing his role of evil. He had an arm pointed at the cook. One of the oversized sleeves was drawn back, showing an iced out appendage. Gold rings on five fingers. A gold-plated gauntlet with a strange mechanism on top. With sights. What was this?

It was flashy, but seemingly less sophisticated than the technology Coco stole – slash, owned. Pharaoh would definitely win some cosplay contests and end up on blogs though.

“What are you doing?”

Should Alvin have been afraid? This was too familiar. But Pharaoh hardly matched the presence of the woman he idolized so.

The bad guy clenched his fist and the mechanism connected to the gauntlet started to whir. A grainy mist began to form. Then a small wall, from which an indent became visible, started to protrude at Alvin. Sand.

“What makes you think I am letting you walk away?”

The chef was a little caught off guard. He thought Pharaoh was a poser who just wanted to be a part of something. But he had the tracking and hardware skills to cause some damage as