It occurred to me while we walked that I’d gotten far too accustomed to carrying a firearm. The pepper spray and the Taser didn’t bother me as much; those were extremely unlikely to kill someone. The baton, well, that felt like something I could rely on and that relied on me. It wasn’t going to kill someone by accident, or at a moment’s whim.
But the gun under my left arm was too snug, too easy, too comfortable. I couldn’t lock it up or leave it behind, but I made a note that after I got home, I was going to ask Jason for a couple of cases that didn’t require one.
But that was later and now was now and the gun was a fact of my life. Until I could figure out what was nagging me.
We wound up at a chain restaurant that specialized in burgers, and I ordered one with a fried egg on it. Grant did the same, though he also ordered a beer and was well into his second basket of endless fries. I stuck with water and nothing.
Fries were the very devil, as far as I was concerned. Grant noticed me staring at the basket and pushed it towards me.
“You know, it’s supposed to be a bottomless basket for everyone at the table.”
I held up a hand, palm out. “I’m good.”
“You’d think you were trying to make weight for a meet.”
“I am, it’s just called outliving my father.”
Grant laughed. “At least you could have a beer. I know you drink a little.”
“I do, but not when I’m working, like right now.”
“You can’t eat just a couple of fries?”
“That’s not how it works with me, Grant.” I had guided the hostess into giving us a corner booth where I could see the door. It opened and I focused on it. Just a gaggle of teenagers. They were unlikely to be a threat.
“Whaddya mean that’s not how it works?”
“I mean I can’t just eat a couple of fries and go on with my day. Especially not when unlimited fries are on offer.”
He snorted and stuffed a last handful into his mouth. When he was almost done chewing he said, “Just takes some willpower and discipline, man.”
I got very angry, very quickly. It must’ve shown in my features as I leaned across the table, because Grant’s eyes widened.
“Don’t talk to me about discipline. I live like a fucking monk compared to you. And I don’t go looking for extra help in the gym when my own work won’t cut it.” I was hissing through my teeth by the end and Grant looked stunned.
Suddenly there was a presence leaning over the booth. Some bodyguard I was. I snapped out of my seat and put myself between Grant and the grinning, slightly pimply teenager who’d been getting out his phone.
I had stopped just short of grabbing his wrist and turning it back. Thank God. The last thing I needed was to assault a minor in a Red Robin.
“Hey, is that U.S. Grant?” the kid asked me.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Grant said. “You want a selfie?”
“Yeah, I do,” the kid said. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s fine.” Grant slid out of the booth and the kid came out of his own. He held out the phone to me and I looked at him like an idiot for a few moments before I finally realized he wanted me to take the picture for them. I took a couple shots, one upright, one landscape, and handed it back.
“Keep giving rebel flag waving idiots what for,” the kid said. He and Grant fist bumped. It was a heartwarming moment. The kid then looked at me and said. “You’re the bodyguard?”
“Something like that.”
“I bet you were like, special forces or something, right?”
“I was a cook.”
The kid looked at me dubiously. Then he suddenly broke into a grin. “Nah, you’re just saying that as, like, cover, right? Because you can’t say what you really did.”
“I fed sailors and Marines for four years. I never did a single glamorous or noteworthy or dangerous thing, except operating kitchen equipment while hungover.”
“Yeah, I get it, gotta live that lie.” He held out his hand for me to fist bump.
“Don’t take this as me acknowledging that anything you said is even remotely correct,” I said when I reciprocated.
Grant was beaming as we walked back to the hotel. It was getting colder and I wanted to stay out in the night air, like I would’ve if I was at home on the deck of my boat.
“What was that shit about not relying on my own work ethic in the gym?” Grant said.
“Eh, nothing. I’m just in a bad mood. Sorry.”
“You know, just because you do a cycle once in a while doesn’t mean it gets easy. You still got to put the work in.”
We were just outside the hotel and my frustration was close to boiling over.
“Grant. The last thing I want is a goddamn primer on effective steroid use. You do it your way, I’ll do it mine. Let’s just go to bed. There’s a show tomorrow night.”
“I’m all jazzed up, man. A kid asked for a selfie! I’ve got fans. We’ve gotta go somewhere. Maybe there’s a club.”
“Nope. No. No. No.” If Grant dragged me out to a club I would end up using that gun on me or on him. Maybe both.
“Come on…”
“Does the company have a curfew rule?”
He got quiet.
“I will narc on you instantly.” I pulled out my phone.
Sheepishly, he went into the hotel.