Another Tuesday

I stood outside, the clock ticking slowly—13:51. The school bell hadn’t rung yet, and time seemed to stretch out endlessly. Spain wasn’t my favorite place to be, but Mr. Ings loved Catholic schools, so here I was, standing guard for his kid. It had been two years since Mrs. Ings died, and I was reassigned to protect Jack. I thought for sure he’d fire me, like the other guards, but for some reason, he didn’t. If I’m being honest, I preferred watching over Mrs. Ings anyway. Jack wasn’t a brat, but there was no love lost between us.

"Hey, D. Keep the engine running." I called to the driver of the black SUV I was leaning against. D had been with the family long before I got the job. He was liked by everyone—probably the only one Jack didn’t treat like a servant.

"You’ve got it, Xander." D replied.

Xander. That’s what Mrs. Ings used to call me. It was the name of her late brother. I’d preferred Alex, but I never complained. The check cleared either way, and the name stuck.

I kept my eyes on two cars parked a few meters down the road. I'd never seen them before, and something about the way the people inside just sat there, doing nothing, rubbed me the wrong way. But, then again, Mr. Ings dealt with dangerous people all the time. I never felt like his family was safer when he was around; I always thought they were safer when he wasn’t.

13:55. Could this day go any slower? The heat was unbearable, and the suit didn’t help. I would’ve stripped it off if it weren’t for the gun on my waist.

I heard another vehicle coming from the other side of the road. I looked up and recognized the plate number. It was one of ours.

"You’ve got to be kidding me." I muttered. It was Mr. Ings. If he was here, trouble was on the way.

The car parked right in front of us, windows tinted. I couldn’t see who was inside, but I had a bad feeling. My hand went to my waist, fingers brushing the grip of my Glock. I was ready.

The doors opened.

"Stand down, Alex. It’s me." a voice said.

Mr. Ings. Relief washed over me, but the nagging feeling didn’t let go. He was never the type to show up unexpectedly. Not unless something was wrong. I scanned the guards with him. They didn’t seem fazed by the weapons, not even in front of a school.

"Well, I’m here. Nothing we can do about it now." he said, slapping me lightly on the shoulder.

"When do they close?" he asked. The bell rang just as he spoke.

We both turned to look. The sound of children filled the air, and the old security guard on duty got up, ready to open the gate. Normally, people with guns in front of a school would set off alarms, but we had a reputation here. I was allowed to conceal my weapon—though I wasn’t sure that was still in play.

"There he is. Jack!" Mr. Ings called out.

I saw the kid, running toward us through the crowd of kids. He was excited to see his dad, and honestly, it wasn’t like I understood family dynamics. I hadn’t had a healthy one myself.

"Dad!" Jack shouted, and I watched them hug. It wasn’t heartwarming; there was too much tension in the air.

Then it hit me. Mr. Ings wasn’t carrying trouble. Trouble had already come for him.

"The two cars." I muttered under my breath.

Mr. Ings heard me and turned. I spun around just as the cars started moving toward us. I grabbed both Mr. Ings and Jack, pulling them to the ground behind the SUV.

Gunfire erupted. Without hesitation, I reached for the door handle, hoping to get them in the car. I needed to get them out of here.

Then, I heard footsteps behind the SUV. I whipped around. A bald man in a bandana, holding a revolver, emerged from behind. Before he could react, I put a bullet through his skull.

I reached for his weapon, but a bullet whizzed past me. I dove back behind the SUV.

Looking toward the other SUV, I saw that two of Mr. Ings' guards were down. The gate was wide open now, and parents and children were scattering, taking cover. I glanced back at Mr. Ings, who was shielding Jack.

I knew I had to turn this around. I pulled out my second Glock, both guns in my hands, moving toward the front of the vehicle. There was one man left, guarding the back. I knew if I could take him out, the rest would fall.

I dove out, catching one of them off guard. I shot him in the shoulder, and the second one tried to fire at me but was quickly overwhelmed by Mr. Ings' other guards.

"Only one left!" one of the guards shouted. I saw the foot of the last man, positioned behind the tires.

I pulled out my lucky dummy grenade, yanked the pin, and threw it. It hit the roof of the car with a heavy thud. The man’s head shot up.

It was enough to get him to move. I dropped to the ground and fired three shots—one to his foot, two to his chest. He crumpled to the ground.

I laid still, watching, waiting. He didn’t move again.

When I stood up, I saw D. He was slumped over in the front seat of the SUV, a bullet hole through his head. He’d kept the windows down, chatting with me, oblivious to what was coming.

I muttered a curse under my breath.

Mr. Ings was fine, though shaken. His guards hovered around him, checking for injuries, but it was clear they were more concerned with protecting him than acknowledging what had just happened.

I stared at them. It reminded me of when I first started in this line of work. But the memory that came back wasn’t of the job. It was of Mrs. Ings, five months pregnant, asking me if I’d ever lost anyone on the job.

"Yes, but always due to their failing medical health. Because, as it turns out, what they really needed was a doctor" I’d joked.

She’d laughed.

I snapped back to the present. Mr. Ings and I locked eyes. He gave me a silent nod of thanks. I didn’t return it. Instead, I turned away and walked toward the cars, retrieving my dummy grenade. I wasn’t sticking around for the cops.