The Kill Order

Chapter 5

Johnson was absolutely right in at least one area – the Hammer gave me anything I asked for as compensation for my participation in the Bureau’s silliest undercover mission. I mean, I started this with almost a 100% chance that my mark already knew I was FBI and also maybe trying to kill his friends.

Why exactly did I agree to this again?

As part of my perks package, I got to outfit the safe house like a real apartment. I was allowed to stay on base any time I wanted, and my room there was still mine. I also got a new set of tactical gear, complete with boots and a new vest. It wasn’t as good as the old one, but I wouldn’t be complaining after it saved my life. Finally, I got a car, and the reassurance that I could tell my squad anything I wanted to during the course of my undercover mission.

I shook my head as I reluctantly exchanged my brand new tactical gear for civilian clothes. Unfortunately, I really wasn’t one for dressing up. It wasn’t like I got much of a chance anyway. So, while we were trying to outfit the safe house to make it look like a real person lived in it, I came to the unwelcome discovery that all I owned were flannel shirts and tattered FBI free t-shirts.

Oh, and a single pair of non-combat shoes.

I was pathetic.

“Can we hire someone to just buy some clothes for me?” I begged Johnson, who was trying to hide his snickering while chucking the FBI shirts back in the bag.  “This mission has suddenly turned into a bad 90s romantic comedy, complete with a makeover montage.”

I knew my voice had taken on a whine, but I really couldn’t hide my misery at the idea of having to spend a day at the mall. The guys would insist on coming, and spend the whole time mocking me, and it just sounded like hours of torture.

Speaking of, Troyan appeared to be in the process of going through the contents of my underwear drawer. I glanced over to see him wearing a pair of lace-edged boyshorts as a hat.

Is there any way at all to increase the probability of a giant hole opening up under the floor and engulfing the entire building?

“Damn, Shep! I would’ve tried to get in your pants a long time ago if I knew this was what you were wearing under them!” Troyan was dangling a black thong off of his index finger, and I have never wanted to shoot someone more than I did in that moment.

Where exactly did I stand on that “giant hole engulfing the building” thing? Anyone?

Johnson’s face was unreadable when he suddenly took a swipe at Troyan. Troy was too fast, and managed to back out of the way, but Johnson kept going. Pretty soon, the two of them were writhing around on the floor in a pile of my unmentionables.

That was the last straw. I stomped right out the front doors, down the stairs, and to the best part of this dumb mission.

It was an impeccably restored ’67 Mustang Fastback, black with two thick white stripes running from the nose to trunk. I’d insisted on a car for personal transportation, and the only non-combat vehicle at the base was this classic.