RainStorm

my hand, thanks me--again!--for my 'patriotism,'
    and walks away. I go to the locker, and who does it turn out this
    'rogue operator' is? Well, none other than my friend from the good
    old days in 'Stan, the intelligent and charming Mr. John Rain."
    I nodded, considering, then said, "Why are you telling me all
    this? Didn't you say, 'opportunity only knocks once'? Why not do
    the job, take the money?"
    He smiled at me. The smile said, I knew you were going to say that. I supposed it made him feel good to prove that, at least on certain
    occasions, he was capable of thinking ahead of me.
    "I'll tell you, buddy, there are some things a marine won't do,
    not even to an army type like you. I figure we veterans have to
    stand up for each other, since no one else seems to want to. Besides,
    I didn't much care for the way old Crawley treated me. Shoot, that
    boy made me out for nothing but a dumb cracker, didn't he. Just
    like you do, if you don't mind my not mincing my words."
    I looked at him. "I don't think you're half as dumb as you act,
    Dox. And you might not even be as dumb as that."
    He laughed. "I always knew you loved me."
    "What about the money?"
    "Shit, I'd rather take twenty-five thousand for nothing than a
    hundred thousand for doing something that didn't sit right with
    me, wouldn't you?"
    "Maybe. But won't Crawley want the money back?"
    "Well, he might, and I might like to give it to him. Trouble is, I
    can't remember where I put it. Think maybe I invested it with a
    securities trader or some other unscrupulous type. It might already
    be gone."
    I smiled. "Crawley might be angry about that."
    "I expect he will be. He might even try to hire another 'patriot'
    to 'remove' me for taking advantage of him. But that would cost
    him another hundred grand. No, I think I know Mr. Crawley's
    type. I think he'll decide it's best to just swallow the insult and live
    to fight another day. That is, if he lives another day. I know the
    news I'm giving you might make you righteous angry. It would me."
    He picked up his soup bowl, raised it to his mouth, and drained
    it. "Aaaaah," he said, setting the bowl down on the table and leaning
    back in his chair. "Nothing like caterpillar fungus. You know,
    there's one more thing. You may not have noticed it at the time,
    but you were always decent to me in 'Stan. I was the only one there
    who hadn't served in Vietnam, and the other guys were a little
    cliquish, I always thought. Made me feel like I wasn't welcome.
    You weren't like that. Not that you ever acted like we were long-lost
    brothers, but you didn't seem to have a problem with me,
    either."
    I shrugged. "You were good in the field."
    He nodded and started to say something, then looked down
    and swallowed. What I'd said had been as dry to me as it was true,
    and I wasn't expecting any particular response in reaction. So it took
    me a second to realize that Dox was struggling with his emotions.
    After a moment he looked at me, his eyes determined, almost
    fierce. "And that's all that should count," he said.
    I thought of the rumors I'd heard in Afghanistan about how
    he'd had to leave the Corps after getting physical with an officer.
    "Somebody once tell you otherwise?" I asked.
    He drummed his fingers on the table, looking into the dregs of
    his caterpillar soup. Then he said, "I'm a damn good sniper, man.
    Damn good. I'd never been in combat before 'Stan, but I knew
    what I could do. Top of my class at Sniper School at Quantico. But
    there was one instructor who had it in for me. Because, even
    though my skills were top-quality--spotting and target detection,
    stalking and movement, marksmanship--I didn't always act like
    what a sniper is supposed to act like."
    I couldn't help a gentle smile. "You're a little more reserved than
    most snipers," I said.
    He smiled back. "Yeah, snipers tend to be a soft-spoken breed,
    it's true. They start out that way, and their work reinforces the tendency.
    But I'm not like that, and never was. When I'm in the zone,
    I'm as stealthy and deadly as anyone. But when I'm not in the zone,
    I need to cut loose sometimes. That's just who I am."
    I nodded, surprised at the sympathy I felt. "And not everyone
    liked that."
    He shrugged. "You know, regular military types aren't comfortable
    with snipers. They think we're cold-blooded killers, assassins,
    whatever. Sure, it's okay to return fire in a mad minute firefight, or
    mortar someone from a mile away, but moving through the woods
    like a