Gilliam Eagler
He decided to stop in a vilalge in Mexico, he didn't speak much spanish so he didn't even bother with the name. The bar had little in terms of food, even less in drinkable liquids, but Gilliam just pointed at the things he wanted, slapping a wad of american cash on the counter. Sunlight poured in through the flimsy wooden blinds, the humidity compounded only by the seemingly permanent cigar smoke lingering on the ceiling.
His meal of corn and something spicy was interrupted by a white man in a suit and shades, he mentioned something to the owner, who scurried over to the mercenary, taking away his food and scurrying back to the kitchen. "Hey! Hombre I ain't done with that!"
"Relax Master Sergeant." Said the obvious government goon.
Gilliam reached into his jacket, ready to pull his weapon out from under the fabric, "You got about ten seconds to either explain yourself or get the hell out of here..."
The suit chuckled, "It's about a job, Mr. Eagler."
"I'm retired."
"No, you're not, you're on the run from a botched job and charges against you from the army for desertion."
"I think I'm pretty safe in Mexico, besides, I don't take jobs I don't know about."
"Well, it's more of a play it by ear job. You do what you do best, phone home every once in a while and we'll make it worth your time."
Gilliam relaxed his grip on the Uzi, "How much?"
The suit adjusted his tie, reaching behind the bar to pull up a suitcase. He approached the table, his steps slow and pronounced on the wooden floor. "Fifteen grand up front. Another five for every meaningful check in." He said opening up the case, revealing a sea of green Benjamin Franklins.
Gilliam looked at the money good and hard, "Where?"
"Grey City."
"Drop the charges against me from the military and it's a deal. But if the shit gets too deep, I'm hopping the next train out. Got it?"
"Of course Mr. Eagler, the chopper will be arriving in ten minutes. I look forward to briefing you when we get stateside again."
His meal of corn and something spicy was interrupted by a white man in a suit and shades, he mentioned something to the owner, who scurried over to the mercenary, taking away his food and scurrying back to the kitchen. "Hey! Hombre I ain't done with that!"
"Relax Master Sergeant." Said the obvious government goon.
Gilliam reached into his jacket, ready to pull his weapon out from under the fabric, "You got about ten seconds to either explain yourself or get the hell out of here..."
The suit chuckled, "It's about a job, Mr. Eagler."
"I'm retired."
"No, you're not, you're on the run from a botched job and charges against you from the army for desertion."
"I think I'm pretty safe in Mexico, besides, I don't take jobs I don't know about."
"Well, it's more of a play it by ear job. You do what you do best, phone home every once in a while and we'll make it worth your time."
Gilliam relaxed his grip on the Uzi, "How much?"
The suit adjusted his tie, reaching behind the bar to pull up a suitcase. He approached the table, his steps slow and pronounced on the wooden floor. "Fifteen grand up front. Another five for every meaningful check in." He said opening up the case, revealing a sea of green Benjamin Franklins.
Gilliam looked at the money good and hard, "Where?"
"Grey City."
"Drop the charges against me from the military and it's a deal. But if the shit gets too deep, I'm hopping the next train out. Got it?"
"Of course Mr. Eagler, the chopper will be arriving in ten minutes. I look forward to briefing you when we get stateside again."