The Walking Wolves of Tahoe: Slaughter

Chapter 15

I really cannot express enough how much I hate my side job.

It's not hard to be a body guard.

It's not hard to stand around and look pretty.

It's not hard to watch rich humans throw their money away at the craps table either...it just gets old.

I found myself standing at the Reno airport wishing I was anywhere else but here. Our assignment was flying in from Texas and her plane was unloading now. All I wanted to do was get lost in the crowd of approaching passengers or run away.

Run far away...from her, my client.

In the past, this would have been a great opportunity to get paid and laid...but today, I really don't want to be here. I don't want to deal with Mrs. Charlene Cooper.

"Dude, I'll tellin' you, I'd do this shit every fuckin' day of the week just to get out of the Hell I'm in." Jarhead whined to me as we stood in the airport lobby waiting for our assignment to arrive.

"You hate this job just as much as I do." I said to Jarhead over my shoulder. I stood there with my arms crossed over my chest facing the escalators waiting for the chaos of rhinestones and hairspray to appear.

"I hate fuckin' computers more." He stated a fact that I've heard for a while. I only nodded, because this is Jarhead's normal complaint with life and I don't foresee it ever changing.

"Yesterday, I had to replace a bad power cell..." he continued to complain, "...fuckin' cheap-ass cabinet made out of that shitty-grade pressed sheet metal shit slit the fuck out of my finger."

He shoved his bandaged finger in front of my eyes, "Look at this shit."

I shook my head, "Never knew IT was so dangerous, Blood Brother." I smiled, teasing my old friend.

Jarhead yanked his finger away and snarled at me, "Sometimes you are a real dickhead."

I shrugged my shoulders, not really caring to argue a fact I've been told before. "It's a finger, Jarhead...get over it." I chuckled. "You'll heal."

"Heal?" He questioned me with his brow arched, "Fuck, watch, it will get all infected and then I'll have some nasty-ass scar..."

I narrowed my eyes and gave my old friend a dubious look. Seriously...it's a finger.

"Hey..." Jarhead put up his hands defensively, "...just because your ass is covered in fuckin' battle damage, doesn't mean I want to mar my beautiful perfect body."

"Perfect?" I questioned his thought process, "I love you, Blood Brother, but you are anything but 'perfect'...or beautiful." I chuckled.

Jarhead crossed his arms over his brown suit jacket and puffed out his already wide chest. "Fuck I ain't!" He laughed. "You know I've got better guns than you do."

Jarhead does have some impressive biceps, but he is not bigger than I am. He's cut and spends just as much time in the gym as I do, but the only thing bigger on my friend is his thick-ass neck and his big fat head...but certainly not his brain.

I pointed over towards Jarhead, "You've lost your fucking mind." I laughed with my friend as he shook his head disagreeing with me.

I glanced back up towards the escalator in time to see our assignment stepping onto it. Her decent down to the bottom is, unfortunately, automatic. I tried not to let my disappointment show across my face.