[RP for David] Guess I need a bodyguard.

[and_twosyllable]

It was what he did when he needed to clear his mind. He cleaned. Ford started with one room in his San Francisco apartment and then moved to the next until by the end of the day his entire loft would be clean. To him it was a productive way to spend a Saturday. He didn't clean for other people, though. It wasn't like he had any guests. He cleaned

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[gen_davideus]

Back in Chicago, David's eyes were focused on the man tied up across the way from him. An hour earlier, the man had been whining about how he had the wrong guy, and that he didn't know what he was doing, but after the reality had set in that David really didn't care, he had clammed up and spent most of the past half hour being rather quiet. Once in a while he would make an attempt to start conversation, but David would just glance over to the sheathed sword that was resting against the chair he was sitting in and raise an eyebrow back at the man. That was usually enough to get him to shut his pie hole

[and_twosyllable]

Ford was hunched over, reading the unfinished E-mail detailing his boring, but wealthy San Francisco exploits. He hovered his mouse over the x at the corner but David Levin picked up - the E-mail was saved, for now

[gen_davideus]

David was silent for a good long time. Granted, he had only been in the private security business for a few years, but he knew that generally speaking people didn't usually phrase it with things like "dispatch me." He pushed himself up from his chair and made his way over to the table, where he had left the new laptop one of his partners insisted he buy. He was really a computer guy -- he still advertised in the phone book, for Christ's sake. But he did know the advantage of Google.

"Who am I speaking to?" he asked calmly, not giving away whatever doubts he may have had about what the client was up to. He'd gotten pretty good at lying. You have to be if you're going to lie to gods on a regular basis.

There was something off with this guy. He didn't sound nearly paranoid enough if he thought someone was going to kill him, and David didn't take cases just for the fun of it.

[and_twosyllable]

The plumber/exterminator van drove off and Ford got a good look. What he thought was a clogged pipe was some sort of insect, dead on its back. Rubber, no less. It was confirmed: exterminator. Tilting his head he saw a red jaguar pull up to the building. Maybe his hitmen wanted to travel in style. He was already in too deep, anyway. And he couldn't lie about who he was. Not if he wanted to tell the truth -- eventually, anyway

[gen_davideus]

Two seconds later, David was looking at a list of articles, lots of various car ads, a few things tracking back to things of European American descent, but nothing particularly of interest until he landed on on an article involving a lacrosse team from New England. He clicked on it, deciding to speak up so the guy didn't think the call had dropped.

"So, Mr. McKenie -- who do you think is trying to kill you?"

Mr. Marcus had fallen silent, and he had an ear out for anything strange that may be going on, his ears able to pick almost anything out of the urban backdrop of Chicago. Hearing was probably his sharpest sense, and the easiest way for him to sense that something was up, and so far -- nothing.

[and_twosyllable]

Take your pick, he said in his mind. So, he was rich. He couldn't fake rich, that was for sure. He could work that angle. It was becoming more and more apparent that this was going to be quite difficult to hold up. He figured he had nothing to lose in telling the partial truth. Half-truths anyway. How long this "hit on him" was going to hold up he had no idea. It was probably smartest to drop it right then and there

[gen_davideus]

David hated psychics.

He really really hated psychics. All things magical and bug-like were pretty much fair game with him, but psychics, in his mind, were the worse. Gross little leeches who more often than not conned people into believing their sad little stories so that they could feel better about themselves and get people to pay them incredible amounts of money and make a living.

However, when a person didn't feel safe it was his job to do the protecting. Whether he liked the guy or not. Take Mr. Marcus, for example. He was not the little weasel's biggest fan at the moment yet he'd managed to make it through their evening together without strangling him to death. It was quite the feat.

He had also heard rumors about a company who was going after powered humans, and he didn't want to be responsible if this guy went missing and he turned his help down.

"Well, that can't be good, Mr. McKenie," he said with a sigh. "How do you think I can be of help?"

[and_twosyllable]

How did he -- Ford sat there, double checking if this was the number for private security and not private dancing or something crazy like that. Sure enough he had dialed the right number. So, he calmed down, picked his phone up and turned off speakerphone.

"With all due respect Mr. Levin, you're business is private security. So, if there were an attempt at kidnapping me or hell, killing me, then I'm pretty sure you'd be of help

[gen_davideus]

"Yes, that may be true Mr. McKenie, but I am only one human being, and I need to know how much this is worth my time." The man was psychic after all. If he could see into the future, what did he need a private security guard for. All he'd have to do would be to have a vision and make like a bat out of hell.

Something else was up, and David didn't like the feel of it.

"It's not an issue of money. It never is. But generally speaking, I help people who really need my help, not people who just thing bodyguards are there to look important. You want my help, you better damn well prove that your life is in danger. Otherwise, we should just part ways here."

[and_twosyllable]

Damn it. Ford stood up and moved over to the other window that overlooked the back of the building. Oh, there was a nondescript white van. He could E-mail David these pictures of a nondescript non-exterminating, non-plumbing van or he could tell David the truth. He knew he might be laughed off the phone or even hung up on - but he really had no choice here. Why would he, Ford, need a bodyguard.

"First, I don't want a bodyguard because I think you'll make me look important." He paused. "I could care less about how I look with or without a bodyguard. It's a matter of me feeling safe. I don't know if you've noticed but something is happening. The world isn't becoming a safer place. And what makes you think I don't really need your help, Mr. Levin

[gen_davideus]

He really should have become a bounty hunter. Then he could beat the shit out of guys who actually deserved it, instead of dealing with people who felt they were entitled to security, just because they didn't feel safe.

"Well, you said it yourself, Mr. McKenie -- the world's not a safe place. But some people have it a bit worse off than you, so excuse me if I don't exactly leap at the chance of being your hired muscle. I'm sure there are plenty of firms you can call, since money doesn't seem to be any object who will be more than happy to just take your business, while I stick with people who really do need my help."

He paused slightly, before rolling his eyes slightly and closing the computer. "I'm in Chicago. If you're that serious, hop on a plane and fly my way, otherwise -- I think we're done."

[and_twosyllable]

"Look, I need you," he said. "Or...you need me - maybe," Ford added, shaking his head

[gen_davideus]

David set his teeth slightly, and pinched his eyes closed. He froze for a second and held up his finger, before speaking slowly.

"Excuse me for one second."

He placed the phone down on the table, before stalking off into a dark corner of the room and letting off a litany of swears that would make George Carlin blush. He paced back and forth, muttering under his breath as he tried to get the information to process. This was just what he needed. Some half-assed psychic having "visions of him fighting." Fighting what, he didn't know, and he didn't really fucking care at the moment, but it was striking a little too close to the vest for his comfort. He paced for a second before realization hit him. Christopher. Christopher the maniacal, drunk two-faced bastard who was probably getting a kick out of pissing David off this much and loving it.

He stalked his way back to the phone, putting it to his ear and growling, not even bothering to hide his anger. "Did Hitchcock put you up to this?"

[and_twosyllable]

"Who the hell is Hitchcock

[gen_davideus]

"I don't need protection, alright?" David said with a nod. "I don't know what the hell you saw, or think you saw, or what kind of bullshit you're slinging, but I don't want shit to do with it, alright? In fact, I wouldn't mind dying so much. Would just make everything else easier."

He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose slightly, exhaling so that he'd calm down some. He really didn't need this right now. He had a job to do.

"So I guess this is me saying I don't want your help. Come to Chicago if you want, but leave me the hell alone."

[and_twosyllable]

"Maybe you think you can take care of yourself," Ford started. "So do I, I'm pretty independent. Hell, I'm very independent but you have to know there was a reason I saw you," he added.

He moved back to the window, seeing what activity was happening. Seeing if there was a red jaguar or a white nondescript van. Speaking of, he pulled out his camera again and deleted those shots he took before sitting on the sill once again. He was getting nowhere quickly.

On the verge of giving up he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. This wasn't working. And something told Ford if he ended up in Chicago nothing would happen. Maybe this entire phone call was for naught. Ford wasn't one to give up but really, he wasn't helping and David didn't want help.

He was about to call it a day.

"Look, it's your funeral -- or it was," Ford said. "Either way, I tried - and that's all I can do without your cooperation."

Yeah, he was done.