Petra Vallin was beautiful: shiny hair like a penny legs a mile long and stacked. She was one of those women you just could not put an age to. I could only say she was over forty. She was as cool as could be and comfortable as shit driving around in this limo.
Was this the high-class version of the women at the bar who hit on me? Lincoln McCall, Man Whore, was not what I pictured on my business cards. That was my first thought, but she quickly put that thought to rest.
She was interested, but not in hitting on me; in hiring me.
“I hear you need a job. You come recommended.” She had an accent sort of like Schwarzenegger, but not quite. Petra dropped a name of a politician I’d guarded once or twice. She also said she needed my protection for a date.
“I’m sending an associate of mine to do a favor for an old friend. You understand what kind of favor, Bruiser?”
“I think so. You just switched around the wording. Your associate’s doing your old friend as a favor. And my name isn’t Bruiser. It’s Lincoln, Lincoln McCall.” I hate bullshit big-guy nicknames.
“No sense of humor, Abe?” Petra was determined to call me something. “I have a normal security detail but I’m looking to keep this little excursion of mine private from my staff. Can you keep things quiet?”
“I can. But what makes you think I need a job?” I didn’t like how much she seemed to know about me. Only seconds after I’d gotten cleaned out, she was here, waving a paycheck.
“You’re down to zero balance right?”
“Maybe.” Why did I have to answer her? No reason.
“No need to be coy Abe. Here’s the offer: $15,000 for one night’s work, and I’m not asking you to kill anyone.” Petra’s eyes were blue, and they seemed to know I was going to say yes. She was so right it was scary. I was trying not to jump at the chance to say yes. Being eager can put you at a distinct disadvantage with a woman like this.
“What’s the job?”
“Your job is to listen in. If you hear my associate scream… let’s see, let’s keep a presidential theme… if you hear her scream CLINTON! You’ll come running. She’ll be wearing an earring just like mine. There’s a tiny microphone in here.” She had two huge diamond studs and she pointed to the one on her left.
The whole thing was a puzzle. She was a beautiful woman, that was without debate, but she seemed a little too classy and, to be a pimp, or was it a madam? Who knows what she was for sure was in complete control. That was the other thing about her. She wasn’t asking me for help. She didn’t need it. She was clearly the one helping me.
“Here’s your receiver.” She tossed me a box with a small antenna that clipped to my belt and an earpiece to run along the back of my shirt and under my jacket. “It’s good you have a suit on instead of that t-shirt you usually wear. Good camouflage.”
“How do you know what I usually wear?”
“I know a lot about you Abe. And don’t get me wrong, I like the way you fill out that t-shirt, but where we’re going, I’m glad you’ve classed it up.”
“This is for court.” I looked down at my suit and began to string the wire. The action of situating the equipment was me agreeing that, yes, I did need this job. $15K was a lot of cash.
When I think back to that earpiece and receiver, I shudder. In the last five years, I’ve significantly improved my surveillance equipment. And I said yes for the money, no question about it, but also because saying no to Petra seemed impossible. I’d never had a woman boss me around, and she did it. Easily.
“If I’m impressed with your level of protection and discretion, I may have another offer for you. Do a good job. And don’t let me see you do it. The client shouldn't know you're there. He's paying for his fantasy and you're not in it. He needs to think he's in control, not you. But you will be. Every minute. Nothing happens to my girl that she doesn't want. Your job is to make sure of it. Do you understand Brutus…Abe?” I nodded.
With that, my client did something I wasn’t used to. She walked away, out of the limo and out of my sight. Petra’s driver handed me a hotel key that was two doors down from the site from the rendezvous I was to observe. Listen in but stay hidden, I could do that. And I was to get there at 7 p.m. Once I was in position Petra’s girl, or associate, would do a sound check. Then that was it.
I could say I waffled and tossed around the moral ambiguity of sex for money, but that would be a fucking lie. Sex for money was going happen. It happened every day on every street in the world. Your mama gets a dishwasher when she bangs your daddy. These girls just skipped the middle man and went straight to the cash. They’ll buy their own damn appliances.
And you know what? Far from being ashamed of what I did, I felt it was a duty. Keeping a woman safe at work? Where’s the sin in that?
That first job, I was early. I’ve made that a habit. I entered the room and heard a throaty voice in my ear. Petra’s girl was talking to her client.
“Uri! Petra told me you were handsome. She didn’t tell me you were so tall.” Sound, check complete.
I opened my hotel room door. She said if the technology was stable, I’d hear every bump and grind.
Uri’s greeting turned into coos and more, and the mic, I discovered, was also good enough to pick up Uri’s obvious enjoyment.
Most men, untrained, undisciplined, would get off on hearing women do it. But right then and there I decided that that was a violation of trust with this woman. I was being paid to make sure she was safe, not get turned on.
She was a professional, doing a job, and so was I. At that moment, I put up strict perimeters around my thoughts. I did not imagine the woman on the other end of my ear piece with her skirt sliding off or Uri’s hands on her silk blouse or anything. I focused on her voice and making sure I didn’t miss it if passion turned into distress or if she uttered her safe word, Clinton.
You can do that; you know? Train your mind. Most people will say, “I can’t stop thinking about…” or “I can’t help it.” Yes, you can. I’ll show you some time. You very much can guard your thoughts and feelings. It is critical for my clients and for me. Sitting in a room and thinking about getting laid instead of their safety will get them hurt and get me fired. Focus, control, and a healthy dose of paranoia: those are my three skills if we’re sticking with the three theme.
I was vigilant and listened for anything that sounded like a threat or the safe word. But the safe word never came; the client, however, did, multiple times.