"Dear God," the man whimpers with an unrecognizable accent, "please forgive me."
Gustavo sees the man's head drop out of sight and hears the sound of a body crashing to the ground. He scrambles out of the tree's shelter, down the slope, and finds the man lying on his side with his head against the dirt and his eyes clenched shut.
"Are you hurt?" Gustavo asks, reaching out his hand. "Are you having a seizure?"
The man mumbles an unintelligible reply.
"You are in medical distress?" Gustavo asks, activating his phone and trying to remain calm. "I will 9-1-1 for you."
"No!" The man roars his response, awkwardly waving his arm in agitation at Gustavo. "Stop!"
"I am not touching you," Gustavo replies, "so don't scream. You need help."
"No help," the man responds, slurring his thickly-accented words and struggling for breath. "Leave me."
"You are having a heart attack? You have been poisoned? What is happening?"
"Leave me."
Gustavo crouches down to get a closer look at the man's pupils, which are not dilated. He again extends his hand but takes care not to touch the man.
"I am not leaving you suffering like this," Gustavo says, lifting his phone again. "What is your name? Let me call in some help for you."
"Help her then," the man says, suddenly cogent but still having difficulty with his breathing and English pronunciation, handing the box to Gustavo. "Take this. Run!"
"Why?"
"Wanda. Cobra de capello."
"What?"
"Please go! Now!"
Catching sight of something behind and to the side of Gustavo, the man's face instantly contorts into a petrified expression. Gustavo flips his head around. A short and stocky man wearing a camouflage hunting mask, brown t-shirt, jeans, and black boots charges toward him.
Gustavo springs to his feet and scurries up the incline. The masked man clutches Gustavo's hind right leg and tries to yank him downward, knocking his phone out of his hand. Gustavo's left leg strikes the man in the head, freeing his right leg from the man's grip. Gustavo dashes across the trail and into the desert brush on the mountainside. Hearing the man chasing him, he runs with all his force, darting out of the way of trees and rocks. Even after he is certain that the man is no longer behind him, Gustavo sprints for several more minutes.
Reaching a thick patch of evergreen trees, Gustavo kneels down behind a boulder. He carefully peeks over it. Optimally placed mid-slope, his vantage point permits a full survey of the mountainside east of the observatory. Not hearing or seeing any signs of pursuit, Gustavo takes stock of his situation. His hands are raw from scrapes and abrasions against the desert vegetation. There are some tears in his clothing. His wallet and keys remain in his pockets, his phone is missing, and he is still holding the heavy tube-like package.
Gustavo remains frozen in place until darkness fully descends. His watch indicates he has less than an hour to reach the parking lot before the observatory closes at ten o'clock. Gustavo finally emerges from the protection of the trees and climbs the barren mountainside. He stays as low to the ground as he can so that his silhouette cannot be spotted moving up the rocks.
Upon reaching a bank of trees by the parking lot, most of the vehicles have departed. In the middle of the lot, his own car is alone, like an island, fully illuminated in the lights. Gustavo remains in the darkness and scans the entirety of the parking lot. He looks for someone he can approach to request their phone and call the police. But he sees nobody in or out of their vehicles.
Gustavo bursts into the lights, dashing toward his car, and abruptly spots danger. From the restroom facilities on the other side of the lot, the stocky man appears. He runs directly toward Gustavo in the same attire he wore at the nook, but with the ski mask folded into the shape of a knit cap. Gustavo surges ahead, climbs into his car and slams the door shut just in the nick of time.
"Get out!" The man shouts, fiercely pounds on the driver side window and tries to open the locked door. "That's ours!"
With his tires squealing, Gustavo glares at the man's face as he begins speeding away. In his rearview mirror, Gustavo sees the man race toward a white jeep. Gustavo careens around the winding road down the mountain, reaches Los Feliz Boulevard, and thinks he has escaped. But just as he is about to turn homeward, eastward onto Franklin Avenue, he captures a glimpse of the jeep. Panicked, Gustavo wheels his car westward, nearly colliding with a truck and a motorcyclist. He bangs on the wheel in frustration. His throat tightens as the jeep draws closer.
Gustavo honks his horn as he runs red lights. He reaches Hollywood and drives south past Hollywood Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard. Gustavo finally stops at the police station, bounding into the parking lot and racing indoors with the package.
9
Sky Beacon
Zachary and Aleksey finish dining at a quaint Thai restaurant a few blocks south of Golden Gate Park. Family run and operated, with muted lighting and only six tables, it is one of Zachary's favorite places for a hearty meal in San Francisco. The wife and husband who own the establishment greet him warmly with good cheer, remembering his sporadic past visits but having no idea of his identity or profession. If feeling fancy is at odds with feeling at ease, there is no battle whatsoever with Zachary. Being at ease, and being protected and sensible, always wins with him.
They travel to Ghirardelli Square for freshly-made bars of dark chocolate. Zachary loves the ones with sea salt while Aleksey favors the bourbon caramel. They visit a couple of the shops, including a skin care store and a pet care boutique.
"I may have to get this," Zachary says, showing Aleksey a large dog collar with three rows of pyramid spikes.
"For you or your future dog?" Aleksey replies.
"My collection," Zachary says, referring to the accumulation of supplies he has been purchasing occasionally during the past two years for when he is ready to adopt a rescued dog. "I don't need a collar for myself."
"Do they sell knee pads?"
Aleksey covers his mouth his hand and raises his eyebrows after the words slip out. Zachary's jaw drops, but he cannot hide his amusement with his bodyguard's quick retort.
"You are towing the line," Zachary grins. "You know that, right?"
"That just burst out of my mouth," Aleksey answers. "No offense intended."
"I did not hear any crack of judgment in your voice, did I?"
"No, not at all. I apologize for dropping my guard."
"Then there is no need to apologize," Zachary says, punching Aleksey in the arm and taking the collar to the boutique cashier.
Zachary completes the purchase and leads Aleksey by foot back to Russian Hill, mentioning he wants to get the feel of the neighborhood at night. Aleksey walks at his side, on his left, keeping Zachary a bit farther away from the street traffic.
"Do you think we could make this place work?" Zachary asks.
"Sure," Aleksey answers. "Any place can be made to work."
"No, not anywhere. This is a critical decision. If everywhere was safe, I would just stay in Phoenix."
"I can understand why Russian Hill appeals to you. But if you want your future dog-or dogs-to have a yard to play in, then this won't work."
"True."
The men return to the Grand Vestige Hotel on the corner plateau of Nob Hill. As arranged, the kilted man with the curly ginger hair is waiting in the lobby, reading a guidebook about redwood trees in a rococo ribbon-back chair under a voluminous crystal chandelier. He stands and nods with a half-smile as he spots Zachary.
"I will meet you up at the Sky Beacon," Zachary says to Aleksey, handing him a couple of twenty dollar bills and referring to the hotel's famed rooftop lounge.
Aleksey rides the elevator to the 19th floor and is immersed in the red-and-gold paisley carpeted lounge. Its walls of glass grant customers a 360-degree view of the city and peninsula. Most of the tables are occupied, but the hostess finds Aleksey a petite window-side table and he orders a Manhattan cocktail. His amazing westward night view includes Grace Cathedral on the other side of the hill and the Golden Gate Bridge to the distant north. He discreetly takes several pictures to share later with Rafael.
Aleksey sips his drink and waits for his boss. He has learned to take Zachary's promiscuity in stride. Initially, it was not easy. He believed Zachary's encounters with strangers exposed him to unconscionable risks. He still knows this is true. But Aleksey also realizes that Zachary's survival instincts are sharp. In whatever way he is selecting the men, he is succeeding, at least so far, with making sensible choices.
Zachary had been honest with Aleksey from the start. He demanded total discretion, explained that he required frequent sexual encounters for reasons beyond instant gratification, and pledged to never sexually harass Aleksey. Zachary wanted a loyal, clever, and resourceful protector. He did not need a person to interfere with his lifestyle, training methods, or travel decisions.
Aleksey orders a second drink, but this is one is non-alcoholic. His unspoken compact, both with himself and his boss, is limiting alcohol to no more than one drink per night. Zachary imposes the same limitation on himself. Aleksey watches the red light on Sutro Tower-blinking like a heartbeat for the city-emerging with three metallic prongs from a mountain near Twin Peaks southwest of him. The pace lulls Aleksey into assessing his career position, rising to become Zachary's foremost, and most trusted, bodyguard. There are other security personnel Zachary brings together in some cities, but Aleksey is the only full-time guard who lives and travels with Zachary. Apart from his professionalism and commitment to excellent performance, Aleksey has grown to admire Zachary deeply. He has discovered Zachary is a complicated person with faults that are outweighed by an inherent goodness and kindness. Zachary may conquer opponents in cages, but he is not a man who takes pleasure in humiliating, belittling, or otherwise harming others.