This is gonna be a slow burn romance. I wanted to focus more on plot in this piece, and wanted to write something that is funny as well as entertaining. Let me know what you think. See ya on the other side.
***
Uno
Luke's cell phone buzzes in his pocket.
His focus through his scope doesn't falter. The winds around him whip his crouching body, spraying snow and ice into his face. Still he doesn't blink, his fingers almost frozen to the metal of his weapon. The sound of the safety clicking off is smothered by the howling of the angry winds. A puff of smoke leaves his lips in a smooth exhale, just as the loud crack of igniting ammunition breaks through the static sounds of the winds.
An invisible timer follows him as his hands disassemble the equipment with the familiarity and gentleness of a lover, placing the pieces back into their slots within their safe case before slinging it over his shoulder. His footsteps crunch in the snow, signaling his retreat just as the first explosion sounds in the distance behind him.
"Your intended speaking." His tone is flat and bored as he answers the insistent buzzing of his device. He didn't like answering calls. They usually led to bad news, and bad news was the last thing he wanted to hear as he descended one of the most beautiful and treacherous places he had ever seen. He wanted time to enjoy the sights from the Himalayas before he had to make his exit.
"Mr. Keane, you are quite difficult to get a hold of." Luke smirks as he hears the second explosion of his attack ignite in the distance behind him. He had gotten a good shot in. There would be no survivors, and no evidence. His client would be pleased.
"Retirement keeps me quite busy." The truth was that he had been dodging this call for the past few weeks. The fact that the number had been a bitch to trace made him cautious. Most of the people that were likely to contact him were done so using private landlines, which meant that the most he had to do was plug in a few numbers and hit a few buttons to know who he was dealing with. This number, however, was almost completely unavailable on the grid.
Almost.
"We have business for you." The voice sounded as though they were not a part of the apparent 'we'. A middle man, so to speak. That was also never a good sign.
"Unfortunately, I already have enough business as it is." Luke clips a line to his harness before pulling gloves onto his chilled hands, his neck beginning to cramp from holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder. "Retirement keeps my schedule pretty booked. You know, between the endless wining, dining, and passionate casual sex, I've barely had the time to start my crocheting classes, which is real goddamn shame. I'm sure your people will understand. Send them my best. Hugs and kisses." His gloves make it hard to hit the end button, allowing for the person on the other end of the line to get an answer in despite his best attempt to end the conversation.
"We can pay you double of what you want. I can promise that we can make it worth your while."
And that was how he found himself parked outside of an industrial laundry mat in Portales, New Mexico. He had been given instructions to meet at a takeout joint four blocks away nearly six hours ago, but he had never been great at following directions. Besides, it wasn't like he had to do this job. He could walk away at any time and still be able to afford to pay people to wipe his ass while eating three balanced meals of cocaine a day for the rest of his life. Not that that was how he was spending his money, but he certainly could afford it. But for some reason, he still showed up. Call it boredom, or perhaps curiosity. Either way, what was a small trip to scout out some potential cliental and get some mediocre Mexican food that would surely irritate his bowels for the next few days?
He spotted their vehicle as soon as he had rounded the corner of the road that the takeout place was located on foot. The black BMW stuck out like a sore thumb, parked next to rust bucket cars with different colored doors held on with dollar store duct tape and missing bumpers. The bastards weren't even trying to fit in. Perhaps they didn't need to. Again, not a good sign. Even with his sunglasses on, Luke could see two forms in the front seats through the tinted windows. Their California plates and flashy tire rims screamed rich douche bags.
Luke guessed that he would have to find the truth of that out for himself.
"Hey, you guys want some piñon brittle?" Luke asks through a mouthful of the buttery crunch, tapping his pistol on the half open window of the BMW to wake the sleeping gentlemen. He had picked up a bag of the sweet treat from a street vendor on his walk through town. He had always had a hard time denying his sweet tooth.
"What the fuck?! Are you crazy?!"
