AN: Firstly, thank you so much to everyone who has sent a review. Please know that I look forward to them, read them all, and appreciate every single one. Your reviews, follows and favourites are the only payment I have ever received for anything I wrote, so they are gold to me! :) I have already rethought something in chapter 3 because of one of your reviews, so they really do make a difference.
I'm posting early because you inspired me with your reviews and enthusiasm. So, chapter 2 is here as a weekend gift!
I am not going to do lots of author notes but I want to say this story will alternate viewpoints between Steph and Ranger. Mostly anyway. It's a new style of writing for me, and I am trying not to do a lot of repetition of dialogue or content, but there is inevitably some repetition to reflect their alternate viewpoints. If it's too much, send me a comment and I'll try and scale it back.
Anyway, Ranger is keen to weigh in… Enjoy!
Chapter 2
I have never been one to second-guess myself. In the Army and especially the Rangers, I was a confident leader and decisive strategist. Second-guessing decisions projects weakness and can lead to people not following orders. My orders are followed. Even now, my men do not question me. That said, I am seriously beginning to second-guess my decision to try and open the second branch of Rangeman in Newark.
It seemed like a natural evolution for me. I started in Miami, naturally, since I had been living there since I left the Rangers. I had family there, and my Abuela still lived there. She was almost more like my mother than my mom. The four years I spent living with her changed my life and set me on the road to my future. I had returned to Miami and started looking for a way to fund my plan for the future. I always intended to go into security after the Army; it was my vision to open offices up and down the east coast.
My second cousin is a bail bondsman in Miami, so I started to work as a bounty hunter for him. I found the work easy, and quite profitable. Between high bonds for drug dealers (plentiful in Miami), and contract work for the alphabet agencies, I had managed to amass a significant nest egg in just three years. Another cousin, Marco, had agreed to go into partnership with me, as he had inherited a bundle of cash, and was looking to get out of police enforcement. Rangeman Miami was born.
The initial investment from us both had purchased a building in Miami Dade and renovated it with two floors of offices, a gun range, and a gym. A three-month contract with special ops, and a two-million-dollar bond recovery gave us the funds to fully outfit the upper floors with two penthouse apartments for me and Marco, and some studios and one-bedrooms on another floor that could be rented to the men as part of their benefits. We also upgraded the garage and monitoring room equipment.
Our first commercial contracts had followed quickly on opening, with several business around contracting for monitoring and camera surveillance. We had two bonds agencies who contracted for high dollar bonds, as well as my cousin. The Miami business was growing.
Two more years to get it established and profitable, and I could leave it in my cousin's capable hands to move on with my expansion. Newark next, where I had a lot more family and roots, then look further north to Massachusetts or Connecticut, or possibly somewhere in between Jersey and Florida like Virginia or North Carolina.
Problem was, I had found a niche in Miami. Working as a bounty hunter had given me contacts and leads, and the market was not saturated when I set up. Marco, too, had a reputation with law enforcement, and Eli referred us to other bondsmen. So our reputation spread quickly and people were open to contracting with me. The business had grown for commercial security, and plenty of businessmen travelling to central and South America wanted personal protection from trained specialists. It had allowed me to employ a lot more ex-servicemen and I had been joined by a SEAL I had worked with in JSOC, Tank Broussard, and yet another cousin who had also been in the Rangers, Lester Santos. It was growing slowly, but steadily, and I was confident about the future there. So, I left Marco in charge and training up Tank for the commercial security, while Lester took over the high bonds, and I moved up north to NJ.
Unfortunately, the niche didn't exist in Newark, and I had not been bounty hunting here. Apart from family, my only contacts had been ex-gang members. And there were four large security firms already established in Newark - two as satellite offices of NY firms, and two national chains. Every meeting, and I had been to more than wanted to, was the same. "Thank you, but I don't think you can offer what we need right now."
This meeting today was a classic example. The client was a two-bit financial planning firm. Two partners, six staff, taking up the fifth floor of an ancient office building in a deteriorating part of Newark. There had been break-ins to businesses on the street, addicts and homeless living in a recently abandoned department store office building a few blocks away, and they had been hacked recently. Almost lost personal client data. I didn't have an office in Newark to offer monitoring or respond to call-outs, and a camera system wasn't going to cut it. I didn't have the skills for cyber-security myself. So yeah, I couldn't offer them what they wanted. Dammit.
I did know someone from my gang days who could help me with the cyber stuff. Hector Perez was a genius with electronics systems and hacking. Problem was, I knew Hector from my gang days, and he had moved away from Newark to get away from the gang. When they discovered Hector was gay, they had beaten him bloody, raped his lover and slit his throat. I didn't ask why he had the teardrop on his face. I didn't have to. Hector was living in Trenton now, and working remotely in IT. He had told me flat out he wouldn't be coming back to Newark unless it was in a box or with a gun. He certainly wasn't coming back to set up my systems.
So where did that leave me? I have been pounding the streets for seven weeks trying to set up at least a potential client, willing to take a chance on us if I could set up an office. I have a tiny one-room office now, but it was mostly so I had an address for mail and an answering machine. I really can't afford to set up anything more unless I have guaranteed clients. And I couldn't get clients unless I have a better set up. My father told me I should aim for New York, but I knew that was a long way off, if ever. NYC is horrendously expensive and competitive. And Rangeman was still a new and unknown company outside of Florida.
I was starting to think I would have to start from scratch like I did in Miami. Get some BEA work, make contacts, find a niche. But would that even work in Newark? And it wouldn't help me find people like Hector that I need. As well as an electronics expert, I need someone who can staff phones and take calls from clients and enquiries about services. I need at least one other person who can back me up on high dollar bonds, and I need a setup to monitor cameras. The list goes on. Miami was doing well, but not yet well enough to fund the purchase of another building in Newark or hiring people to do jobs that didn't have any clients to support.
Maybe look outside Newark? I came here because of family, but let's face it, I'm not that close to my family. I love them, but they've been a more distant part of my life since I was fourteen and they sent me to Abuela. And if meetings like today are any indication, I am either going to have to try something different in New Jersey, or just go back to Miami and rethink my expansion plans.
Feeling supremely frustrated, I strode towards the exit. I was about to go into the stairwell when I noted that the elevator now appeared to be working. I normally take the stairs. But I was so frustrated I decided to take the elevator hoping it might get me out of here quicker. The doors started to close as I moved toward the elevator, but I managed to get my hand in the gap before they closed completely, and the doors slid back open obediently.
I stepped in and noted that the button for the lobby was already lit up. I didn't bother to press it again as most people would. I try to avoid futility. I also didn't bother with the close door button. In an elevator and building as old as this one, it was pretty much guaranteed not to work.
Despite my frustrated thoughts and chuntering mood, I automatically catalogued my surroundings. I had been trained to do this since boot camp, and by now it was basically a reflex. The elevator was as old and tired as the building, with vinyl on the walls and a scuffed vinyl flooring, both in shades of greyish beige. The buttons were worn too, and several floor numbers were barely legible. I noted the other person in the elevator was a woman, mid-twenties or so, long dark hair, and I guessed fairly attractive, if she was smiling. Now, she seemed to be very much not smiling, but huddled against the wall and looking rather sad and lost. She was dressed in a professional outfit, and carrying a slim, slightly worn briefcase as well as her handbag. I assume she had either been visiting for a meeting or an interview. Apparently, it hadn't gone well, either way. I dismissed her from my mind as my thoughts continued to churn on whether I should keep trying in Newark or move on.
My frustration grew as the doors of the elevator failed to close for at least two minutes. I was about to step out and take the stairs when the doors finally closed. I repressed a sigh of annoyance, and the car began to move downward. I was regretting my choice to take the elevator now, as it was moving excruciatingly slowly and then stopped again on the fourth floor. The process repeated with the long delay with the doors. Again, I considered taking the stairs, and I should have, but the doors finally closed again for the carriage to move.
Suddenly, with a jerk and a shudder, it began to move much more quickly. Too quickly. I really didn't blame my companion for her scream because it caught even me off guard.
We dropped like a stone.