Chapter 3: A Job Offer

Chapter 3: A Job Offer

(One month earlier)

Luke awoke, a sharp pain pulsing over his left eye. I should have had more water, he thought reproachfully. He tossed off the covers, glancing back at the sleeping form on the other side of his bed. The brunette shifted in her sleep, the sheet falling away to reveal an ample left tit with a dark erect nipple. And no tan line, he noticed. What was her name again? Martita? Marina? He vaguely remembered chatting her up at the bar last night. God, I do stupid things when I drink Scotch.

He pulled on some shorts and went up on the deck of the boat to smoke and think. Lighting his cigar, he reflected on his life. Six months ago, he'd retired from being a news photog, moved back to Tampa and was living on a boat he rented from a buddy. He'd finally had enough.

Charlie had said it would happen, that he'd get sick of all the war and blood and tragedy. At the time, he'd considered the old man jaded, just plain tired. After all, Luke was a veteran of Navy Special Ops. He'd been a photog then, too, slipping undercover into situations disguised as a journalist, getting closer than any military personnel would have been allowed. Going into news after the Navy had seemed a natural progression, as he'd told Charlie, way back on September 11. That was his first day as a civilian news photojournalist. It was horrific, of course. But in some ways it was exciting as well. Historical events need to be documented. That was the day Charlie walked away from news. But they'd remained close. They had history together.

Still, it was a surprise when Luke's phone rang and he looked down to see Charlie's number on the screen. "Hello?" he answered.

"Hello, yourself, you son of a bitch! What the hell is your lazy ass doing, all retired like some fucking geezer?!" Charlie shouted into the phone.

"Nice to hear from you, old man!" Luke grinned at the slightly inebriated voice of his old friend. Good old Charlie, sounding drunk already at, what time was it? Shit, it was already 2:00 in the afternoon.

"Hey," Charlie began, "I may have a job for you."

"You just said it yourself," Luke responded. "I'm retired." From behind him, Luke heard the sound of stirring, a female voice calling his name. He'd forgotten all about… Margarita? Maria? He needed to pay better attention. She stepped out onto the deck fully dressed, if that's what you called the scrap of fabric she was wearing. Holding a glass of juice in her hand, she crossed over to where he was sitting, put her arms around him, and kissed him on the mouth.

"You're not alone, are you?" Charlie ventured. "I'll call you back."

Charlie started to hang up but heard Luke reply, "No, don't worry, Marisa was just leaving." He gazed up at the girl, who now had a pissed-off look on her face.

"My name is Valerie."

"Oops, sorry about that. Here's some money for the cab," he said, pulling some cash from his pocket.

"So it's just like that? We fuck and then you send me off, like some whore?" she asked shrilly.

"Um, sorry, darlin'," he grinned. "Did we get married or make some other commitment of which I am unaware? It was fun, but I'm not looking for a ball and chain, here. I didn't mean to make you think anything else. See you around, kiddo."

Turning his attention back to Charlie, he heard the glass shatter on the deck of the boat. "Yeah, well, fuck you!" she shouted before storming off down the dock.

"Damn." Luke swore softly. "I loved that glass."