Greco smirked.

“The first one’s a freebie,” I stated.  “I show off my skills, which you already know about anyway, as well as my intentions.  I’ll take him out, and I won’t even use a sniper rifle so it won’t be obvious that it’s me—not until I’m on your payroll officially.  After that, it will be your call.”

Greco raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod.  It sounded completely reasonable, and he didn’t have to know that my Barrett was still in the hands of the cops.

“After that, you pay me my going rate—fifty G’s per, seventy-five if I need to take care of it out of town.”

“That’s pretty steep,” Greco said, his grin becoming somewhat incredulous.

“It’s my rate,” I said definitively.  “I’m flexible when we’re talking about a quick, easy hit, like you telling me to kill the dude in your office as I’m standing there, and he’s being an asshole.  I’m already there; he’s there; no recon work for me.  Bang!  It’s done.  You’d get a discount for that one.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Micah snickered.

Andrey glanced over his shoulder, silencing the younger man.

“You’d probably be the one with the barrel end pointed at him,” Greco remarked as he also looked pointedly at Micah.  He turned back to me.  “That’s still a steep rate, and it’s not like you are all that careful about who sees you.”

“Consider it added insurance,” I told him.  “If I’m seen, it just means I get the heat, not you.”

“That’s how you see it, huh?”

“Pretty much.”  I watched Greco as he considered what I was saying and found him lacking.  I wasn’t even sure he was actually thinking about anything but just trying to give the impression that he was.  The more I talked to him, the less impressed I was.

I also knew better than to underestimate him.  Even stupid people can surprise you, and being surprised usually meant death.

Or worse.

“You do this for me,” Greco said.  “You take out this man, and we’ll talk afterwards.”

I nodded slowly.

“There are just a couple of things I’ll need up front,” I informed him.  I palmed the tip of my cigarette and took another pull off of it.  The smoke trailed up between my fingers.

Greco raised an eyebrow, and Micah folded his arms across his chest.

“Told you,” the Russian muttered.

“Keep your trap shut,” Greco ordered.  “What is it you think you need from me?”

I pulled a small piece of paper out of my pocket, the motion setting both Micah and Flannigan reaching for their guns, and slid it across the low table.  Greco reached out and spun the paper around so he could read it.

“Weapons, a base of operations, and ten Gs,” he muttered.  “Find your own damn weapons—you have the contacts.”

“Contacts under the employ of Moretti,” I said.  “Do you want them so easily traced back to me?  I told you I wouldn’t be sniping, so I’ll need something a little different.”

He huffed through his nose.

“What kind of base of operations?” Greco asked.

“Nothing big or fancy,” I clarified.  “Someplace on the border of your territory and Moretti’s.  Somewhere right around here would be fine—I need to be able to work from a place near downtown.  Moretti owns my apartment—I can’t use that place and consider it secure.”

He didn’t like it, which was obvious, but he also couldn’t deny the logic of either of the first two requests.

Greco glared, turned the paper toward his guard, and looked up at him as he tapped the list of rifles and handguns I required.  The guard nodded.

“Not a problem,” he said.

“And a secure location?”  I asked.

Greco looked over to Severinov, who also nodded.

“We can provide,” he stated, “but I don’t think we should trust him.  I want to know more about why he wishes to work with us.”

“I don’t give a shit about working with you,” I corrected.  “Like I told your nephew—you mean nothing to me.”

I teetered on being too disrespectful, but I had to give the impression I was only going to lower myself so far.

“You’re insulting!” the Russian snapped back.

“You’re nothing,” I replied coldly.  I sat up in the chair and leaned forward, looking straight at Greco.  “Look—I can either do this here and be an asset for your organization, or I can move my ass to New York and provide my services to another outfit.”

“Why don’t you just move to New York?” Greco asked.  “It seems it would be safer for you.”

“Because I like Chicago,” I replied.  I leaned back again and watched him, waiting for an answer.  “The traffic in New York sucks.”

Greco took in a couple long breaths, looked to Andrey, and then looked at his fingernails, all in a lame ruse to give the impression he hadn’t already decided, but eventually bobbed his head in agreement.

“You will get your space and your guns,” Greco said, “but no money from me up front.  You’ll get your ten grand after the job is done.”

I snorted through my nose.  The only reason I had put the cash on the list was to give him something to deny me.

“Sure I will,” I mumbled.  I kept my cigarette cupped against my hand as I took a long drag.

“Why do you hold it like that?” Micah piped up as he nodded toward my cigarette.

I looked him in the eye.

“Snipers look for the light,” I told him.  “Even without night vision, it’s clearly visible with a scope from a mile away.  Makes you an easy target if they can see the tip—just aim for the light.”

His eyes narrowed at me a bit.

“Are we finished here?” Greco asked, ignoring Micah’s interruption.

“Yep.”  I took a final drag of my smoke and stubbed it out on the table.  “It’s a deal.  My number’s on the back of the paper.  Call me when you have my shit.”

I stood and turned my back to them.  It was a bold move, and I meant it to look as such.  Craig could have easily pegged me in the back if he wanted to, but I was fairly certain Gavino Greco was already seeing me for the asset I was.

There was no shot as I walked through the door and let it slam behind me.

* * *

It took less than twelve hours for Gavino to deliver, including a little room in a hotel a few blocks away from Quay, up near the top floor with easy access to the stairs and roof.  Inside the room were the assault rifle I had requested, a Glock, a SIG, and a couple other rifles and handguns.  I’d only really cared about the AR and the SIG—the other weapons were extras in case Greco decided to play hardball about my requests.

I checked over the weapons, made sure they hadn’t been tampered with or anything, and then turned to Gavino and Craig.  Andrey hadn’t joined them for this little exchange, and Micah had been stationed outside the door, but he was still listening intently.

“It’ll be done,” I informed him.

“When?” he asked.

“You haven’t actually paid me for this,” I reminded him, “so it’ll be done when I feel like it.”

I was testing the waters, no doubt.  I needed to know exactly how far I could go—how far I could push—and still have him agreeable.  He narrowed his eyes, and Craig crossed his arms as I made a bit of a display to show my annoyance.

“A few days,” I told him.  “No more than that.”

I actually planned to have it done within a few hours, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Good.”

“You never told me if you wanted his actual head or not,” I reminded him.  “I usually go with photos because my carving skills are a little subpar.  I tend to make a mess, but it’s your choice.”

Gavino took a slight step back.

“Pictures are fine,” he said.

I held in a laugh as I shooed them all out of the room.  From the window, I watched them cross the street and head back to the bar.  I shoved the AR and the SIG into a duffel bag before I left the room, locking it behind me.  I used the roof access to check out the scene from there, was pretty happy with the view, and then made my way down and out the back of the building where Gavino and his crew would have less of a chance of seeing me leave.

I’d been gone too long and wanted to check on Lia as quickly as I could.

I walked, took a bus, got on the L for a few stops, and then took a bus back to the Loop.  I loved riding on Chicago’s mass transit systems anyway, so covering my routes wasn’t a chore for me usually.  This time, though, when I had Lia waiting for me, I had to force myself to make sure I wasn’t being followed.  The desire to both keep her safe and get back to her as quickly as I could was in conflict.

I traveled up north, then back down south, and finally got on a bus that would take me to the new apartment.  It was rush hour, and the bus was overcrowded, so I stood and hung onto one of the bars for a while until there was a free seat.  More people packed on, and I tried to stop the claustrophobia from getting to me.

It was a bit too much like the bus I rode just after killing Terry and Bridgett, and I was tense and agitated as people crowded around me.  At that time, I had been without sleep for days and had nearly pulled out my gun and started shooting.  I wasn’t in the same state this time, but I was still feeling quite off.

I tried looking out the window for a while in hopes that the open space outside would help.  It did—for a while.

Then I saw him.

It was the same kid in the same sand-covered clothes.  He was standing on the corner of the street right by the bus stop with his arms out at his sides.  There was something in his hand, and I was fairly sure it was a detonator wired to the explosives underneath his shirt.

I pushed my way off the bus and ran to the corner, but he was gone.

With my fingers curled into fists, I looked up and down the street to see if I could locate him again, but there was no sign of him.

“That’s because he isn’t fucking there.”

I cringed at the sound of my own voice directed at nothing and no one but myself.  I squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, and took one last look around before boarding the next bus.

When I finally arrived at the apartment, Lia was in the kitchen, putting things away from one of the last of the boxes, and Odin was snuffling around in the corners, still unsure about his new surroundings.  After putting my newly acquired weapons in the front closet, I kissed Lia’s cheek, which she seemed to find amusing, and played fetch with Odin for a bit.

I relaxed pretty quickly, even in the less-than-familiar surroundings.  The stuff and the company were all familiar, which seemed to help.

It felt all too comfortable, and as I sat back on the couch and observed Lia make dinner, it started to concern me a bit.  It felt great—no doubt about it—but it also felt wrong somehow.  Maybe because of who I was and what I had done, I just didn’t feel like I deserved it all, but I wasn’t sure.  Even after my little episode on the bus, I was happy.  It wasn’t a feeling I was used to experiencing.

Complacency is a bad thing.

My mind moved into itself.

“Got a spare smoke, sir?”

“Sure.”  I pull one out and hand it over to the private, who lights it quickly before leaning back against the wall next to me.”

“I’m heading back to the infantry unit in about an hour,” he says.  “I’ll report back all the intel you gave me.  Any chance they’ve discovered our position?”

“We've been here two weeks, private,” I say. “If we were going to be found, we would have been found already.”

“Evan?”

“Huh?”  I glanced up at Lia who was looking at me with questions in her eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sorry.”  I rubbed my face and felt annoyed with the stubble.

“I asked you if chicken was all right for the stir-fry.  There’s also beef.”

“Chicken is good.”

I thought about my route back to the apartment.  It had been complicated enough, but that didn’t mean there was no way for someone to have followed me.  I didn’t think anyone had, but there had been times in the past I thought that, too—times when I had been wrong.

We ate; I fed Odin, and then I stepped out onto the balcony to smoke after I had cleaned up the dishes.  I had to insist on it, telling Lia that the cook didn’t do the cleaning.  It was a phrase I had learned in the convent, though I hadn’t used it since then.

Throughout the rest of the evening of television-watching and somewhat subdued fucking—for us, anyway—my paranoia over being followed grew.  Lia seemed to sense that I was on edge, but I wouldn’t tell her why.  I didn’t want her to worry about it and then not be able to sleep.  If she didn’t sleep, I wouldn’t either.