There is a backstory to this one, and it is important that you understand my background. This all began many years before I became involved in a lot of the background that I have revealed in various stories over the years. Yes, I was an actor on TV, I am a published author, I do carry a badge and I have run for political office. I also do own a large tract of land, which is the setting for many of my stories on here. The following introduction predates it, and fills in a few of the missing pieces as to why my characters are always sigma males.
Many years ago, while running for political office, I had befriended another candidate named John MacDonald, who was campaigning for mayor of a rather large city. He won, served a few terms, and then decided to run for governor of our state. I had decided to give it one last go myself, and on one foggy October morning, a series of events occurred which would make us inseparable, with a level of trust not shared by many politicians.
You see, when I was 21, I had applied for the Uniform Division of the United States Secret Service, and although they ultimately discovered that I had had corrective eye surgery to make me eligible for law enforcement, it was an immediate disqualification from the Service. No surgeries of any kind were accepted, so I took it in stride and applied to become a deputy sheriff instead.
The sheriff was impressed, when I mentioned how we were told, "At some point, you may find yourselves protecting the President of the United States. This is the most important man in the world, and your job is to jump on top of him and take multiple bullets intended for him. This is what we're paying you $27,000 a year for." Granted, it was a LONG time ago (I have zero idea what they start out at now), but it instilled that dedication in me.
Fast forwarding many years to that fateful morning, John had served several terms as mayor, and was now stumping for the governor's seat. As I mentioned earlier, we had become good friends at that point. There is an annual church barbecue in our state, which draws in tens of thousands of people by sending an open invitation to all of the politicians out there, to set up in a special area, or to just drop by. It's become famous, and one year, even the sitting vice president had dropped by to glad-hand the local politicians and some of their constituents.
John and I set up our campaign stuff next to one another. I was always the first politician to show up, because I set up next to the lines of cars waiting to buy their barbecue, and get tons of extra looks (and potential votes) my way. John picked up on it as well, so that is where we both happened to be, when a disgruntled constituent from John's mayoral days decided to get even with him.
There was no real security at this event, as it's officially just a church barbecue and not a political event. Sure, the local PD is there directing traffic, but not really there for much more. Well, they are now, after what happened that day.
There was a slight lull in the line of people coming by to shake hands, so John and I took a moment to sip some water. Suddenly a voice rang out from the closest line of vehicles waiting to pick up their delicious pork BBQ (yes, it's pork in these parts, with a dry seasoning rub; no sauce) It's North Carolina style, and it's some of the best in the world.
"Hey, MacDonald, you fucking asshole!" a voice screamed out. "I've got something for you, you cocksucker!!!"
This is where my short stint with the Secret Service came into play. You see, I still had that mindset drilled into me, to jump on top of the POTUS - should the situation arise - so when I heard those words directed at my friend and potential next governor, I did just that.
Without even thinking, I lunged for my friend and tackled him, as several staccato-like pistol shots rang out. They weren't throaty enough to be from a 9mm or larger; so most likely a.380 or even a.32. Even a.22 with a short barrel will sound pretty loud at close range, but whatever they were, they still burned like a motherfucker, as three of them drilled into my back.
In the event you've never been shot, let me explain what the experience is like: Imagine being stung by a Japanese murder hornet or a scorpion. Now add to that most unpleasant sensation, also grabbing 240V AC while being struck with a sledgehammer; all of it at the same time, and in an area the size of a pencil eraser. That, my friends, is what getting shot feels like. It's a most unpleasant sensation.
It was not an unfamiliar sensation, however. I had felt it once before, in my early twenties, while attending a weekend party. There was a large bonfire going, and some ass clown decided to toss a live 5.56mm round into the fire for some sort of reaction. It detonated a few seconds later, and although there was no chamber to build up a lot of pressure to send the bullet on its way, it still hit me in the right pectoral muscle with enough energy to bore in about half of an inch. Thank God it wasn't a tracer round! Someone dug it out with a penknife, so it was no big deal. A few beers later, and I was none the wiser.
So as I leaped on top of my friend out of sheer reflex, I felt that old familiar feeling once again. And then, twice more. Suddenly, a barrage of what sounded like multiple 9mms rang out, as the traffic cops opened up on the shooter.
"What the fuck just happened?!" John burst out.
"He had it out for you, Old Friend." I managed to utter with a bit of a giggle. "Sorry if I hurt you. It just kicked in. Are you okay?"
"Yeah." he responded. "Are you?"
"I don't know." I replied. "Jesus, I'd forgotten how much it hurts."
"Are you hit?!" John exclaimed.
"Yeah," I responded, "but I don't think it hit anything major. Far be it for me to say that I'm alright though. Don't mean to be laying on top of you like this, Buddy, but I honestly can't really move. I'm not gay, I promise. I think you do owe me dinner for my trouble, though."
John let out a laugh that I will never forget, just as the officers arrived to assess the situation. They were not trained to handle this, but fortunately, there was a fire engine on the premises, and an EMT was quick to tend to my needs. It was obvious that none of my wounds were life threatening, and they were quick to get me off of the future governor.
I pulled through with little fanfare, but my actions were enough to win my position, along with John's. Now you can understand why we are so tight. John went on to secure two terms as governor, and then successfully ran for president.
I'd had enough of politics, and decided to sell my house in the suburbs and build a log home on some rural property I had the luck of paying cash for, when I was just 20 years old. That's a separate story, but I owned it nonetheless. In the meantime, I had been approached by an alphabet agency, to use my talents as an actor among other things, to route out domestic terrorists. Because of this, I was given a code name and an official number.
I spent the next seven years of my life, living essentially a double life as "Lion." The moniker was given to me by the agency, due to my actions regarding John. I had leaped like a lion to his rescue. I was living what Ozzy Osborne said so succinctly in Crazy Train; "The Media sells it, and you live the role," along with who I really was. I finally had enough, and refused to run again. I just wanted my life back, and I decided to finally build my log home retreat in the middle of the Appalachian forest. It was, in fact, my little slice of Blue Heaven, when I got an incoming call from a restricted number, that brings us to this story.
"Hello?" I answered.
I figured it was most likely from my former case agent, but was pleasantly stunned to hear John's voice on the other end instead. It HAD to be important.
"Jack!" he said tersely. "I need the lion back. Can you help me out?"
"You got it, Buddy." I replied. "What's up?"
Now, let me clarify something here. I have never in my life, addressed someone by their title. I do not address random men or women as Sir or Ma'am. I don't care what your rank or title may be, you were given a birth name, and that is what I use. You may have graduated medical school, but your name is still Rick, Frank or Jill; NOT Doctor Jill. John was well aware of this, so having him call me by my name was nothing. It was when he dropped my code name, that my ears perked up.
"You've been watching the news, I'm sure." the president continued. "You've seen the coup going on, over in Europe?"
"Yeah, sure." I replied. "But what does that have to do with me?"
"Prime Minister Leoni and her daughter are here." he explained. "We were going to do a series of talks about what is going on in the region, and how NATO might get involved. Then, all hell broke loose and she has basically been deposed in absentia. I have no doubt that she will be reinstated at some point, but in the meantime, I need to keep her safe.
