The Search

CLIENTS

"Wake up kiddo," says a voice I recognize to be my father's.

Slowly opening my eyes, I am momentarily blinded by the light coming from my ceiling fan. I blink, groan and roll over to face the man who thought it funny to knock me unconscious. 

"Was that really necessary father?" I asked, already irritated by his antics.

"Obviously it was, seeing how you failed to know someone was behind you. You need to observe with more than just your eyes and ears, Jokester." he explains.

I scowl at the horrid nickname "Jokester". That was his little inside joke to me after he saw some movie with a man bat or something and the bad guys catch phrase was "why so serious?" Apparently I'm to serious. Well, excuse me for not being all jokes and laughs when I have to watch my back all the time because daddy dearest might come out and attack me in my own home.

"The mistake was made and learned from, father," I reply, boredom already seeping into the conversation.

"Yeah, yeah Jokester, anyway, your birthday is coming up pretty fast, you excited?"

I haven't thought about it to be honest, it's just another year to add, nothing major."

"Of course. Well, your mother and I have a dinner with clients tonight, we would love for you to join us," My father then shamelessly gives me his puppy dog eyes. It always amazes me how he can pull off such a thing. My father is 6'4 with big muscles, broad shoulders, and intelligent eyes. All and all, he's a scary looking man, not someone you picture puppy eyes on.

"Oh, fine!," knowing I couldn't resist such an adorable expression "I'll attend your boring dinner. What is the attire?"

"It's a black tie affair, so dress nice. I believe you mother put a little something in your closet for you." he winks.

"Her confidence in you puppy eyes is extremely high."

"Hey! No one can resist this innocent face," he pouts.

I just laugh and point to my bedroom door from my bed.

Alright, I can take a subtly placed hint," he teases "Oh, and the dinner starts at eight tonight, so be ready by seven please." With that, he slips out the door, while quietly closing it.

I sigh and look over to my right at my nightstand, searching for my clock. Locating it, I see it's only 4:40pm. Seeing how I only got at of school at 2:10pm, I haven't been unconscious that long. I decide to go to the gym on the ground floor of the building to pass time. Slowly rising and stretching from my bed, I head to my closet. I walk up to the french doors, and open the right one, and proceed to glide in. My closet is quite vast. It's takes the shape of a rectangle, with a full three-sided mirror at the far back. It is nice and all, but I find the small love seat and coffee table a little over the top. I see a garmet bag laying across the love seat, but decide to take a look later. I head straight back to my dresser, pulling open drawers, locating a black sports bra and a pair of lime green spandex shorts. I quickly change, dropping my worn clothes down the laundry shoot to me left. I head back  into my room, and walk over to my vanity across from my bed. I pull a hair-tye off of my wrist , and tie my waist length black hair up into a curly messy bun. I slip on my trainer shoes that were place haphazardly across the room, while grabbing my gym bag. Checking to make sure I had my keys and wallet, I make my way down to the gym.

"I'm going to work-out, I'll be back in a hour," I yell to my father. I hear his approval through a grunt from his office. I exit my home through our personal elevator, pushing the ground floor button. Being on the 18th and highest floor is a pain, that is why I am relieved we purchased our own elevator. I absolutely detest stopping on an infinite amount of floors, before I am able to get to my own destination, plus I am a tad claustrophobic. Hearing the ding of the elevator, by habit, I head to my left, leading me through the gym doors and straight back to my personal white punching bag. I drop my gym bag and begin to stretch and loosen up all my muscles. Five minutes pass before I'm ready to begin. I open my  gym bag and take out my wrappings. I expertly wrap them around my wrist and knuckles before starting my warm-up routine. Two quick jabs, duck, spin, back-fist, fake to me left, side kick to the right, straight punch. Soon I start to preform freely, incorporating kicks and complicated body movements into my deadly dance. My father usually comes here with me. He pushes me to my limits until they expand. "A father can't always be there to protect their baby girl" he always says. I agree. The gun and fighting lessons being only the tip of the iceburg.