Three hours, it'd been. Three hours and me and Rico were still going around about it.

"Well, looks like they do, amigo, because that wasn't no Joe lying there with a hole through his brain."

We were in Texas when it happened, and I fucking hate Texas. Now I fucking hate Texas even worse.

And we were still in Texas, sitting in a grimy hotel with no air conditioning, sweating it and arguing. Rico sounded like he was talking with his teeth clenched. Ten to one he was mostly pissed because he hadn't seen what was happening, more than I had and that I'd done something about it. Ten to one I was only arguing because just like him I wished it hadn't gone that way. "You made a mistake."

"He marked my client."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Rico-" and like that, and we were both yelling again.

It happened fast; it always does. All the time in the world to act, no time at all to make a decision. Part of your rating is about how often you're wrong. So I can say and know it's a fact that ninety-eight and a half percent of the time when I pull that trigger I'm right.

But maybe not this time. I knew the more we were arguing, neither of us was really sure, and really all it was about was watching a kid we'd both worked with, a talented good IS on his way up to Elite, go for his weapon when we didn't expect him to, and then I made that decision I was talking about and then…

…well, fuck. Then it was all about cleanup. My client safe and away from the ranch where it had all happened, and then three whisper-quiet helicopters, and a handful of other operatives showing up to take our place and a few words to the state troopers and in not much time at all it was like the whole thing never happened.

Except that boy Henrik was in a body bag on a helicopter going fuck knows where, and it was a round from my rifle that took him down.


About the time Rico was hollering that I should yield my license and because I was thinking the same thing I was yelling something about his mother, Moira tapped me.

We both stopped shouting. Even with his mouth going full volume and brain at maximum freak, Rico can still hear a click from me and do what I'm asking, that's the thing about him.

"Here's how it's going to go," Moira said. She sounded like nothing had happened, which meant either she genuinely didn't give a fuck or I was about to get fired. "You're going to put together a six man team of operatives you trust, use the Santa Fe facility to train up, and hold there for your assignment."

My face must have said something I didn't mean it to, because Rico was watching me carefully now.

Well Jesus fuck, I thought, until today I trusted that fucker Henrik. I mean, as much as I trust anybody, which I guess isn't much.

"And as far as your OK Corral incident goes," Moira continued, "Vondel got hit when the firefight broke out. You had your eye on your client and don't know who it was that shot him."

"I didn't have an eye on fucking anything," I was saying, but she'd already cut.

Rico was radiating disbelief. "You just got contracted," he said as I turned to go and shower.

"We got contracted," I called back to him. I'd worked with him more than anyone, and it wasn't trust or even like really I had for him, but we made a good team. "You, me and five others."

"We just killed another operative!"

"I just killed another operative," I corrected him. "Now fuck off and leave me alone."


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