Take a Chance

Chapter Two - Risky Business

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[Ranger]

I concentrated on the roads to New York and refused to let myself think about...things? The future? Or what if?

Stephanie fell uncharacteristically silent, probably remembering other beach days, other road trips. Steph isn't the only one who can reminisce. My innermost thoughts drifted back...

...

a few years ago...

I lie on the hot adobe roof, sighting through my rifle scope. As the day progresses, the sun has shifted enough to cast a tiny, useless bit of shade from the roof's low parapet across my face and forearms. But it is still hotter than hell in this no-name third world country, some "P" name—Paraguay, Peru, Panama…..uh, Pakistan?

Or is this a 'stan? You know, A-stan, U-stan, K-stan. P-stan.

Of course I really do know exactly where I am and exactly who the General is that is my target today. I am just goofing with myself, anything to alleviate the boredom.

I look again through my sniper rifle lens. The rifle itself is a matte, plain, nothing color, sort of cammo tan, instead of the usual matte black because black guns soak up too much heat and are not as accurate. My target is a lectern on a raised viewing stand, maybe 1000 meters away from my rooftop hiding place. The general is due in about an hour, he is going to announce that he and his minions have overwhelmed the current government and are taking over.

Or maybe not.

Probably it will be the shortest reign by a loud-mouthed idiot in recent history. I have my money and my orders, no problemo.

And, yeah—about those orders... Attached to the government contract couriered to me at Rangeman two days ago, the estimated risk level for this op is easy to moderate. Uh huh. The last time I took a moderate risk for Uncle Sam I was captured and tortured for two days before I escaped, finished the op and got home safely.

But still...I keep taking these contracts and doing the job I'd been trained for all these years. The money is excellent, and keeping the free world safe is a bonus. And I am very, very good at this kind of work. Just like shooting coconuts on the beach back at my grandparents' home in Florida, bang-bang. Ka-ching, $$$$$$.

I am a mercenary, after all. Without the ka-ching factor there'd be no bang-bang. And you know, my coloring, my looks—after an op I can just fade into the populace, pass for one of their own. Tonight I will blend into the horrified, avid throngs, apparently a citizen of this crummy town. I am good at language and accents, I'll change my Spanish to sound like a native, hiding the upper crust Havana accent that I'd picked up learning Spanish from my family. Then I'll rent or buy a 4-wheel drive vehicle and drive home or at least to an airport in another country.

I look again, no action on the dais. I wonder how things are going back home in Jersey. Funny that I now think of Trenton as home, well, anywhere Steph is—that's home.

Look at me here, sniper at large, assassin extraordinaire; mercenary for hire, even if I only take jobs from the US government's array of alphabet agencies. What can I possibly offer to a woman like Steph? Much as I love her, she's as white bread as they come. But I do love her….

I love her. I loved her the day we met.

So, let's say I tell her and we get together for real, maybe even get married someday. The warmth in my chest when I think about marrying Stephanie makes me squirm. But I am not a man who deludes himself and I know we'd go down that road, marriage, babies, house in—please, God, NOT the Burg! Princeton, maybe? Or Deal, near Alexander's pink behemoth of a villa? Steph loves the beach….

And then of course we'd have kids, let's not fool ourselves. I am willing to bet my millions that by age thirty-five Steph would be all about the nesting thing. Even if she kept her unconventional job, she'll want a baby. Or two, or three.

(sigh)

Can't you just see a cute little kid with her eyes and hopefully my hair? And can't you just picture Career Day at the Elementary school: What does your daddy do? He's a doctor, he's a plumber, he's a cop. What about you, Baby Manoso? Well my dad is a black ops assassin.

Real conversation ender, right? Could I go straight, even for Stephanie and Julie and a baby or two? Would Steph want me to, would the government allow it?

Or just kill me….?

Speaking of which, my mark just strutted up the steps to the platform. He stands in front of the podium, the flags of this unknown city and country flying bright behind his head. I disregard the flags' movements and sight calmly. I squeeze the rifle trigger, once.

Again.

Ka-ching.

...

Of course, I thought, as we crossed yet another lightly trafficked bridge, that was then—years ago. And this is now. I glanced at Stephanie, still lost in her own thoughts. Or asleep?

tbc

a/n a version of this chapter (only) appeared online as a short/ one-shot, a long time ago.