Breathtaking

A slight drizzle started as I pulled up in front of the building where the company keeps administration and tech support. I frowned slightly as I peered through the windshield of my old, beat up Chevy truck. I might have been living in Chicago, but damn, it wasn't like I was used to this weather already. The cold rain in this place never failed to chill me to the bone.

I shook my head and reached into the back seat for my plain black zippered jacket. I was already shivering in anticipation of being drenched. As an afterthought, I figured it was a good time for a cigarette. I pulled up the leg on my jeans and reached into my left boot for the pack of Marlboros I kept inside. Taking one from the box, I put it to my lips and lit it; my zippo making a satisfying click as I closed it and put it in a cup holder. I took a long drag, held it, and exhaled in a heavy sigh as I looked out of the rain streaked window at the building I was going to enter. I closed my eyes and reflected on the days events. I got the call to come in last night.

The cab pulled up in front of my building on Kinzie Street. I was renting a nice studio apartment there in Chicago, meaning I pretty much had to pay a fortune for it. Thank God it was only temporary, but hey, when you took ladies home after a long night at the bar, it usually pays to see an approving glance at your place of residence. After a couple of snickers and a glance from someone downstairs, then the elevator ride up, I stumbled in the front door with a young lady on my arm. We were laughing at our lack of coordination. I tend to laugh at the stupidest shit when I'm sober, but when I'm drunk, everything is fair game. I flipped on the lights and what she saw must have surpassed her expectations.

"WOW!!" she said, still laughing. "You really got it goin' on here!"

I laughed again, directing her to the couch in the living room.

"Yeah, that's what they say. You want another drink, darlin'?"

"O-M-G! I love your accent! Where was it you said you were from?"

I cringed inwardly. Damn people and their damn text language. When did someone decide that was cute?

"West Texas. Beer?" She nodded vigorously as I brought her over a Bud Light Lime and opened myself a Rolling Rock. I slowly walked her way, the sound of my boots making the typical heel-toe sound people associate with wooden saloon floors and old-western cowboys. Clunk tap. Clunk tap. Clunk tap. Didn't matter where I decided to go in town, there was always one girl that couldn't resist tryin' out a cowboy. Hah, well they needed to listen to a little Chris LeDoux. Clunk tap. Clunk tap. Stumble. I flopped down on the end of the couch next to her amid more laughing.

Finally, we settled down and I waited for the questions. Usually, they were a little silly. Turns out lots of folks around here still think we ride to the bank on horseback. I always laugh at that one. Have you ever thrown a lasso? Nah, not since I was little. There really isn't much need for em anymore. Well, do you have cows? Nope, I usually just worked other folk's cows. Where is your cowboy hat? Ha ha, up in the closet. Do you all have six-shooters? Hah. Nope, but if you wanna see my gun, all you have to do is ask (WINK). Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. This one however, cut to the chase.

"So... Is it true what they say about yall?" She said, with a sultry glance in my direction.

"What's that?" I said with a slight grin. I could tell this was goin' to get interesting quick.

"That everything is bigger in Texas? Everything?"

I nearly choked on my beer, but quickly gained composure.

"Wanna find out?"

She grinned as she stood up, set her beer down on the coffee table, moved over to me and sat down, straddling my lap. She proceeded to pull her top over her head and expose those lovely assets I'd been checking out all night. A low whistle escaped my mouth. She grinned, leaned in close and said "I would love to find out."

I wrapped my arms around her and lifted, keeping her in position, but now en route to my bedroom. Clunk tap, clunk tap, clunk tap. "Yeehaw!" She yelled playfully. I laughed and kept moving, finally dropping her on the queen sized bed. I pulled off my shirt and started to unbutton my jeans when I heard my phone ring.

Dammit. Not that ringtone. Why in the hell did it have to be THAT ringtone?

I closed my eyes and willed it to go away. It didn't. Dammit. I lifted a finger to my lips and shushed her. She pouted. Whatever, I need to take this. AC/DC's Highway to Hell continued to play until I felt sobered up enough to take the call.

"Hello?"

"We need you packed up and ready to go. Come to admin at noon to pick up travel documents, intelligence dossiers and a bunch of other paperwork."

I silently cursed the world for the horrible timing. Dammit. I wasn't worried about the woman in my bed getting undressed. It was my father. The man's 60th birthday was tomorrow, he was spending it in a hospital bed, and now, he gets this for a present.

"Yes sir, I'll be there at 1130 waiting."

"Good. We'll speak then." Click.

My shoulders slumped. I hung my head and reached up to scratch the short beard growing on my face. The girl on my bed froze.

"Bad news?" I nodded.

"Here." I reached into my wallet to get some money. "Here's some cab fare. I'm sorry, but you have to leave."

Boy, she was pissed. She jumped up with an almighty huff, snatched the cash from my hand, put her shirt on and headed for the door.

"HEY, I said I was sorry."

"You're an asshole!" was all I got in return. That and a slamming front door.

Whatever. I had calls to make. First one was my mother.

My mother and I had a strained relationship. After I made it through college, she was intent on setting me up with a little apartment five minutes down the road where she could still keep an eye on me and I could "start my life." I had different plans. When I came back with a copy of my enlistment papers, she freaked. She figured I was throwing my life away for nothing. Me? I just wanted to do it. She never really got over the fact I just took off. I think she took it as a betrayal against the family. When I told her I started working for The Company, she just broke down and cried. "MY OWN SON A KILLER FOR HIRE. BOY, I RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THAT!" She couldn't believe I would risk my life like that for money.

It wasn't like that. We were hardly contracted for search and destroy missions. Mostly, it was high-profile security jobs for ambassadors and diplomats. I never told her about the other jobs. I was sure she would disown me if I did, but it wasn't any of her business what I did anyway. Still, I could understand her concern for my soul. Something for St. Peter to look at and figure out for himself I guess.

I dialed her number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, she picked up, sounding incredibly tired.

"Hello?"

"Hey, momma. Its John."

"Hey, boy.. You should be asleep."

"You too. Still at the hospital?"

"Yeah. He's not doing too good."

"Lemme talk to him really quick, please?"

I heard the phone fumble a little and a weak voice came over the line.

"Son?"

"Hey dad. How's the heart treatin' ya?"

"Like hell, but that's about right."

"Yeah, yeah I guess. Well, I just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday early. I.. I uh..."

He sighed over the line. "You have to head out don't you?"

"Yeah. I don't know where yet. Just remember, the key to the safe box with my will and everything are.."

"I know, son. I know."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Get better."

"I will. Here's yer mother." Momma was already crying into her hands.

"John, don't do it. Come on home and forget this nonsense. You don't have to play soldier anymore!"

"We've been over this momma. Its just somethin' I wanna do."

"IT CAN'T BE THAT SIMPLE ALL THE TIME! YOU HAVE TO HAVE A REASON! WHAT, DO YOU WANT TO DIE!?"

"I'm not gonna die momma. I'll come and see y'all here in 4 months. Bye."

Before she got another word in I hung up the phone. I hated doing that to her, but the argument would have gone on for hours. I thumbed through the contacts in my phone, coming up with my brother's number. I called him and his phone went straight to voice mail. After all these years and he still couldn't keep the damn thing charged.

"Hey, guy. I've gotta leave again. Take care of the parents for me, ok? I'll be back in a few months and I'll come visit y'all then. Take er easy, buddy." As an afterthought, I added "AND CHARGE YOUR FUCKIN' PHONE, DAMMIT!"

I tossed mine onto the bed and went to my closet. In it were three large, black, Pelican brand cases. I lifted each of them up and onto my bed. I opened the longest one first. It held my rifle. I did a quick safety and functions check before looking for any rust spots or imperfections. There were none and the rifle worked perfectly. I put it back, closed the case and turned to the smaller one. I opened it up and did a similar inspection on my pistol. Also in fine working order. Placing this one on top of the rifle case, I opened the large cube-like box. In it was everything else I needed. My vest, my magazine pouches, my knee pads, thigh holster, and medical kit among other things. I quickly verified that it was all there before placing it all back and closing the lid. I carefully stacked the crates in my kitchen and moved back to my bedroom. I pulled my combat boots out from the back of the closet, grabbed a pair of khaki cargo pants and a black polo and set them in the bathroom, ready for tomorrow.

For a drunk, I sure was thinking clearly. Of course, this isn't uncommon. Sometimes things just snap and you start moving. You get a drive. Something that focuses you and gets you to your goal regardless of the gratuitous amounts of tequila you drank. Satisfied with the basic prep, I went to the kitchen and got the coffee maker ready to go first thing in the morning. Humming an old Folger's ad in my head, I finished up and went to bed, not even bothering to take my clothes off. Sleep didn't come as easily as I hoped it would. There was enough liquor in my system to notice that the room was still spinning a little. Damn, I love that feeling. Gonna miss it. Finally, I guess my eyes just got tired of waiting and closed themselves.

My alarm went off at 6 am. Loud piece of shit. I fumbled for it blindly and ended up knocking everything off my nightstand. Well, NOW I was awake. Dammit. I threw up my hands in exasperation and went to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I made a quick decision of whether or not to shave. The beard wasn't long, but it wasn't exactly short either. I walked into the kitchen to start the coffee pot and flip on the TV. Usual bullshit on the news.

Someone dove off the deep end and shot up a school, 4 dead.

Someone was arrested in connection with the rape of a 12 year old girl.

5 more bodies turned up in the Chicago River.

Some politician put his foot in his mouth and the press was tearing him a new asshole.

I went to the bathroom again, turned on the hot water and stripped. While the shower warmed up, I couldn't help but look at the tattoos adorning my body. My forearms, Greek. My shoulder blades, a Texas and US flag. Left bicep, a shamrock with crossed sabers. Lower back, a little Latin for the classical fans. Closing my eyes and shaking my head at myself, I climbed into the shower. It felt amazing to be in the steam, just relaxing the muscles and waking up the body for a long day. I took my time showering. After thirty minutes, I stepped out and toweled off. I felt like a new man again.

The news was still on. Except there were no more terrorist attacks and no more sadness, just a Hollywood starlet checking herself into rehab. Again. With Dr. Drew giving us a little commentary and information about it. Again. In the ticker across the bottom of the screen, words scrolled by.

'12 dead in suicide bombing near Istanbul today.'

'Colombian drug cartel suspected in slaying of 30 Bogota Police officers this weekend.'

'Congress is working towards making unmanned drones available for civilian police use.'

I grabbed a coffee cup, filled it and walked back to the TV. Now, THAT is news. When did it become more important to know about the personal life of a diva or movie star before you knew what was happening in your own country? I guarantee, a good number of those folks who do the Jaywalking segment with Leno disagree.

I contemplated putting the khakis on. Nah, that can wait. I pulled on my jeans, cowboy boots, and the polo as a last minute attempt to look semi-presentable. I went to my bedroom and pulled out my suitcase. In it, I threw random hygiene items and clothes. When I was satisfied with my choices, I grabbed it and my pistol case and headed down to my pickup. It was an old Silverado I just didn't have the heart to get rid of yet.

That truck and I have been on some wild rides and it still had some sentimental value. Besides, regardless of how much that thing got beat to hell, it was still the most reliable truck I've ever owned. Hasn't failed me yet, unless you count at the gas pump. Fuel was spiking just under five dollars a gallon now and I wasn't sure if I could keep up with it. After putting the pistol and my suitcase in the backseat, I went back up to the apartment. I had to clean up a little. If you've ever left dirty dishes in the sink and been gone for a week or two, your first day back in the house was probably pretty bad, huh? After taking care of the two beer bottles from last night and turning off the TV and coffee pot, I cast one last glance at my home.

"I will be back. I will be back. I will be back."

I grabbed up the last two cases I was bringing with me and without a backwards glance, I locked the doorknob, deadbolts, and headed back down the elevator. Throwing the cases into the pickup with the others, I lit a cigarette and looked at the city surrounding me. It was a pretty amazing sight, but all I could hear were traffic noises and wind. I wanted to be back in Texas. To go stand outside on the prairie and not have a single living soul for as far as you could see. Here, there were close to 3 million people, not counting the commuters. I shook my head and hopped into the truck, readying for the shitty traffic I was bound to encounter.

It seemed like it happened so quickly. Quicker than 9 hours anyways. Now, there I was sitting in the parking lot. I looked at the clock: 11:45. I hopped out of the pickup and locked the doors. You always locked the doors. Not like back in Stephenville, where I went to college. Those kids usually came from smaller towns. We're talking about populations of 500, 300. They never locked the doors because they never had to worry about thieves. Here? Shit. You locked the doors and hoped the assholes didn't break out your windows.

I pulled the hood over my head, the cigarette in my mouth and my hands in my pockets. I couldn't wait to get my ass inside. Upper forties to mid fifties are tolerable for me. The rain kills it. Throwing my smoke casually into a puddle, I pushed open the front door and entered the simple lobby. The desk guard asked if I needed any help. I waved and said my usual thanks, but no thanks before hopping into the elevator and taking another ride, this time, thirty floors up.

With the ringing of a soft bell, the doors opened and I entered a small reception area. The lady at the desk recognized me and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Marshall. He's in his office waiting for you." I gave her a winning smile; I was gonna see if I could get a feel for what was going on. "Well, howdy Miss Richards. Anyone else in there?" She smiled and nodded. "Looks like the rest of your team. Think you guys are in for some fun?" I shrugged. "We'll see. You have yourself a nice one, Ashley." I strode through the long hallway past workrooms and cubicles moving towards the back of the floor. Finally, I spotted it. The large double doors to the boss' office. I pulled open one and stepped in. Immediately, fifteen pairs of eyes were on me.

"Nice of you to join us Mr. Marshall."