Flexible. That is one way to describe it. I may not bend as much as I used to but with enough social lubricant anything is possible. Staying loose is important, especially if the other guy has enough crazy to not follow the rules. The bad guys get to do the kidnapping, murdering, and general fear-mongering while we have to just wait for it to happen and talk to their lawyers if we so much as sneeze in the car ride back to the holding cell? It’s easier when there are no lawyers or holding cells. They expect us to wait around for them like those are the rules. Call me impatient.
Moral flexibility. It should be on my resume. Come to think of it… I’ve never filled out a resume. Army doesn’t ask. They just poke, prod, measure, and feed the machine guns. Mr. Gold didn’t ask either. I always figured if you had something written on your soul, he’d read it like a book anyway. Being friends with an immortal legendary creature of yore that still cheats at poker each 2nd Thursday of the month has it’s advantages. I wouldn’t say job security is in the benefits package due to the gunfire involved but being the left hand (claw?) of the Director works for me. Director Gold needs eyes and ears in the field. Sometimes he needs a hammer. Flexibility. If I had a secretary, I’d have her write that down. Then shred it.
My story starts in a classified file that I’m told I’m not supposed to put down here, though part of the story was used in a few films in Hollywood. I like the parts from the A-team movie the best. I’ll let you guess which parts. What I can reveal, started back in the late unpleasantness of World War II. US Army pays nothing but the recruiting poster I found out there had better benefits. CIA works better on foreign chicks too. Worked my way through the ranks of the Occult elite of the 3rd Ick. I don’t know much about elite though. They caught wind somehow that I was bringing the torch and decided to burn their own house down around them. I love when people get paranoid. It’s easy to slip into the mantle of boogey-man when people’s imaginations do the work for you. Got a few trinkets of *******classified******** and turned an asset as well. Wolvie was a good agent for a bit but couldn’t stomach a few of the jobs. Still useful though. Not much for poker. That’s why he still gets to join the games.
Michael Silver has been my best friend and partner since the Cuba job. That was the most royal fuck up I have ever been privy to besides whoever my most recent ex is at the time of this being read at any given time. Remember the scene in Enter the Dragon with the mirrors? It was like that without the kung fu and no fake hand. My ex, not the job. He may not know how to pick a good burger joint or bar…. or fight, but a better wingman on this planet there is not.
The benefits include a lot a travel stamps, a ton of frequent flier miles, and the ire of most of the civilized world if they knew what I had done to people we regard as enemies. If your hands aren’t dirty, you aren’t playing the game.