Being a Hero

Chapter 1

I know, I know. This story vanished for a bit, but now it's making a comeback. I'm ferreting out some plot gremlins and working on it. If anyone is still around and reading this, here's a brand new 1st chapter with a different starting point. After I finish reorganizing the chapters that were already finished, they'll return as well.

The song of the day is "Play With Fire" by Sam Tinnesz

"Only those who attempt the absurd will achieve the impossible." –M. C. Escher

*Cal 's POV*

The only thing better than the crisp newness of early spring in New England was the anticipation preceding a mission. Today was the best of both. "Eyes on target," I whispered to my partner, not shifting an inch as I trained my binoculars on an old sedan pulling into the parking lot across the road from our hotel.

My partner, Li Jing, hummed an acknowledgment from where she was cleaning her tranquilizer gun at the room's small table. She'd already finished with the sidearms and knives while waiting, and she was in no rush now.

A tall man stepped from the beige vehicle and straightened his uniform. Like all the staff at Twin Trees Casino, he wore a smart dress shirt and slacks combo with a vest, though his bowtie was currently hanging untied from his collar. Grabbing a faded red backpack from the back seat, the Afro-Brazilian headed inside for his shift at the blackjack table. Rodrigo Congussu, a.k.a. Jaguar, was in the house.

I remained motionless until the man disappeared from sight. I lowered the binoculars and opened the window, lessening the stagnant tang of gun oil in the room. "How's the weather looking tonight?" I asked after taking a deep breath of fresh air.

"Less than a 10% chance of rain," She commented, screwing the barrel of the tranq gun back into place, pausing briefly to toss her head and remove a long strand of straight black hair from her face. A hint of humor touched her voice as she continued, "Try not to find any mud this time? You know how I hate the smell of wet dog."

I laughed at the familiar jab. "No promises."

The rest of the day was split between packing, checking our gear, and watching the casino in case our target left early. Rodrigo had already proven to be wily, and we didn't know the full extent of his abilities. Our first day in town he'd spooked after we made the mistake of taking a vantage point upwind. He'd disappeared for several hours before turning back up at his cousin's apartment, sans car, but he had confirmed our suspicions of him possessing enhanced senses (or at least an enhanced sense of smell). Other powers were suspected but unconfirmed.

Our intel was certain on this not being the first time he'd had to vanish. He'd given both the Rio de Janeiro police and the Brazilian mob the slip in 2007 before popping up in Houston as a minor drug runner in 2009. He evaded capture there too. There was a gap of several years where he'd been off the grid afterward. Now he was in small-town New Hampshire staying with relatives.

Li was on watch when Rodrigo exited the casino at 1:00 a.m. with the last of the gamblers, thirty minutes before his shift was scheduled to end. "Cal," She said, sternly.

I quickly rose to my feet, staying out of sight of the window. I slipped my last piece of gear—a small GPS unit on black paracord—over my neck and gave a wolfish grin. "Shall we?"

Given the extra eyes in the parking lot, we opted to follow Rodrigo out of Keene on his way home to Chesterfield. This time of night Route 9 was almost devoid of traffic, especially once we reached the stretch skirting the local nature preserve. That was where we struck. A carefully aimed shot from my silenced Glock took out one of the sedan's back tires, and the vehicle fishtailed before sliding off the road into a drainage ditch.