He pulled inside the garage door of one rusty warehouse, opening and shutting it right after he got inside. I shut off the bike�s engine and pulled around to the back, determined to get in. I spotted a nearby warehouse and used the ladder to the roof to climb on top, then jump from one tin roof to another, landing softly on all fours. I crouched and walked quickly, keeping low and advancing on the skylights. I reached them, and worked one up quietly, slipping in between the glass and the roof, dropping onto the top of a tall pallet near the skylight, being careful to spread out my weight, I climbed down to between the isles of weapons and stored electrical equipment, keeping low to the ground, I found where Taos was, sitting with a bag of McDonald�s next to him, his jacket off, thrown onto a cot near the wall. A dirty window and several low industrial lights lit the small living area.
He was sitting at a worktable, with a laptop on it, but closed and to the corner of the table. In front of him was nothing�
I stepped out from behind the shelf of pallets.
�Freeze, whoever you are.�
I didn�t�.I walked around a bit so he could see me, and he turned his head.
He leveled a uzi at me, a sort of reaction to having his personal space invaded, I guess.
�You. The Brat. Go away before I have to beat the mess out of you again.� He put it down and began unwrapping his food. I swallowed the lump in my throat and spoke my rehearsed speech.
�I hear that you�re a hired gun. And well, I�m hiring you.� I pulled the duffel off my back and threw it in front of him on the table.
�Hiring me for what?� he asked, unzipping it.
�I want you to teach me. Teach me how to fight like you.�
�Why, kiddo, why do you want to fight like this?� he motioned to the pallets of weapons surrounding him.
� I don�t want to be a toy, a tool for someone else.�
He smiled.
�Good answer, brat. Now, tell me, what are you thinking of me teaching you exactly?�
�What does a good assassin need to know?� I grinned at him.
And so my training began. I stayed at the hotel only a few times, returning to Taos�s warehouse and sleeping in a pile of burlap sacks and tarps. He taught me to handle weapons, the ammunition, the way to aim, and how to work as a sniper. He issued me the basic set of things I would need for my line of work. Five handguns. Two in hip holsters, two in a shoulder harness, one in a padded pouch for concealing in my pants waistband. One twelve-gauge shotgun. With a leather back harness, and bandolier for extra ammo. One sniper-set rifle. Bolt-action, with a spring-loaded bipod attached to the stock. An electronic sight attached to the top, with the capabilities to find a flea on a soldier�s uniform nearly 1,000 ft away. A grenade launcher, with a cartridge holder and strap for slinging it across my back. Some C4. Detonators.
I spent a month and a half with him, learning the basics, and getting to know him.
The night before I left, I was cleaning my guns off in preparation for bringing them home (he had offered to drive them most of the way, and drop them off, since I only had my bike), and he said,
�You know kid, you�re not half bad.� I stopped what I was doing and looked at him.
�What do you mean?�
�You get things, things that people twice your age don�t understand, you know that?�
�um�no.�
�You do, girly, you get that the world isn�t perfect, and you�re willing to go pretty far to fix it.�
�Oh, wow, thanks.�
�Ready to go yet?�
�Yeah, pretty much.�
And so ended the bulk of my modern weapons training. In three days, my Punishment ended and I returned to active duty, relishing my new talents and the first chance that I would get to use them.