"Andres, do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes, I do."

"Are you sure?"

"Lucas, I swear if you don't leave me to my work I will kill you."

"…I don't think you know what you're doing."

"Fuckin' a, do you ever shut up?"

"Fine fine, I'll get out of your hair."

Lucas did not mean to bother Andres, he was just nervous. This particular assignment was wreaking havoc on his nerves and he was never good at dealing with stress. Oh sure, it was easy for Andres to play the part of the cold-hearted killer, because, well, he was. Lucas did not know how long the other man had been in the mercenary racket, but those nasty scars on Andres's cheeks and forehead told him that it had been a while. Andres also happened to be a whole foot taller than Lucas, a fact that served both to reinforce his position as the leader, as well as his image. Add to that his bad temper and dislike of rookies, and Lucas felt it was better to just give him his space.

"Hey Dopey, get your ass over here."

Stifling a groan, Lucas walked back next to Andres, who had just finished assembling his tools of the trade, such as they were.

"Andres, I amnotletting you choose codenames next time."

"Shut up, or there won't be a next time. Now grab those binoculars, the target's on the move."

"I got a bad feeling about this man."

"This is the last time I tell you Dopey, shut the hell up. This is a walk in the fucking park and I'm not gonna let some punk who's still wet behind the ears give me advice. You may have had the biggest balls in whatever shitty army of whatever shitty place you come from, but consider them shriveled up. Now, take the binoculars and watch the target while I get the sniper ready, and so help me if you tell me your hair is in your eyes again I will personally shave that blonde scalp down to the skull!"

"I'm just gonna take a look at the target."

"I thought so."

Lucas gulped as he turned away from Andres, who was now busying himself with setting up the sniper rifle in just the right way. A psychopath he may be, but Lucas had to admit the man was thorough. Still, this whole mission did not feel right. Their employer had contacted them both individually; neither had known until the day that the hit would be taking place that they would be working with a partner. Andres immediately let his opinion on the matter be known by punching a hole through the wall of the hotel room their employer provided. Lucas too was confused, though not enraged. Why would an employer contact two mercenaries, a rookie and a veteran to boot, for one hit?

"Eyes on the prize Dopey, what's the target doing?"

"He's walking towards the vehicle, escorted, but there is still a chance of a clear shot."

"Dopey, with me here, there's more than just a chance."

Sighing, Lucas slipped sound-diminishing earmuffs over his ears and watched the target again. Andres would probably make the shot, all things considered. Bynow Lucas knew that Andres did not mess around with his job.

"Too bad for the target," Lucas whispered to himself, "he doesn't seem like a bad guy."

In truth, the target was actually an old man. According to their employer, the old man had gotten deep in debt with him, and since the man could not pay with money, he could pay with his life. Stupid idea as far as Lucas was concerned; their employer still lost the money he lent, plus what he paid to have the guy killed.

Lucas also found the old man's job odd; he was a body double, according to the briefing their employer had given them. The idea did not seem farfetched on paper, but now, it was growing more and more suspect.

Lucas's eyes then grey wide at a sudden realization. This was not a body double, this was not some petty hit based on money. This was big, bigger than both of them. This was also a huge mistake.

He did not even get the chance to turn to Andres before the latter took the shot. Through his binoculars, Lucas could see the old man going down, his escorts immediately rushing to his aid.

"Well Dopey, job done, you can thank me for doing all the work later."

"Andres, do you realize what you've done?"

"Yeah, followed the wishes of some senile old fart and killed some other senile old fart."

"Do…do you even use your brain besides for thinking of death? Look, our employer said that the target was a body double right?"

"Yeah."

"And in all your life, in all the classified information you have stolen or read, have you ever seen mention of a body double for the person this old man was said to double for?"

"No, what's your point?"

"My point is, if it walks like a duck, looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it's a fucking duck!"

For a moment, Andres allowed himself the privilege of looking confused. He also allowed himself the privilege of entertaining thoughts of maiming Lucas in horrible ways for not making sense. Then, a wave of realization hit him.

"Hoooolyyyy shit."

"Yeah, holy shit alright."

"Dopey…we just killed the pope."

"What do you mean we?"

"Hey, you had just as big of a part in this as I did!"

"I didn't pull the damn trigger!"

"You could have stopped me!"

"Oh yeah, and you would have listened to me. What do you care anyway, I thought you were a pro at this Andres."

"Are you that stupid? We didn't just off some no-name chump; we killed the pope! You think we can just lay low and act like this was some normal assignment? This is it man, it's all over. Once they start looking for us they're never going to stop."

"What do you suggest we do then?"

"Well, first, I suggest we stop acting like idiots and actually leave the damned crime scene. Then, we take the first plane back to my base of operations, and find our client. The bastard's got a lot of explaining to do."

"You're actually taking me along?"

"Don't get all emotional about it, as far as I'm concerned you're a liability, if they catch you I know you'll crack. It's better for me if I keep an eye on you. Don't think I won't kill you if I think you're a detriment though. Now get your shit and let's get out."

With barely enough time to grab his supplies, and with the sounds of sirens growing louder, Lucas rushed behind Andres. He had to wonder if he had made the right career choice.

The 20-odd minutes that Lucas and Andres had to wait in order to cross security were the most nerve-wracking of Lucas's life. He could not help but fidget and look behind him every once in a while. By some miracle he was conspicuous enough that no one noticed him. But as soon as a nearby TV turned on near him he was sure he would jump out of his skin. He could not see the TV, it was in the gate section, but he could hear it all the same. It was a news report and even before the newscaster started talking Lucas knew what the news was.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tragic news today from the Vatican. Pope Thomas has been killed by a sniper's bullet."

Lucas tensed. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He was sure they were going to be found out now. Any minute someone would randomly point to them and accuse them of murder. He looked around, waiting for that one person to stand up. To his surprise, and relief, everyone was too busy staring at the nearest television. Snapping back to reality, he paid closer attention to the news.

"…gunned down this afternoon while on his daily walk. Pope Thomas was known for his radical approach to the papacy. Not only did he travel more than Pope John Paul II, he also made it a habit to walk the streets of Vatican City in what people came to call "civilian wear". It was common to see him talking to people on the street, accompanied by only a minimum amount of guards. But today, it seems that his desire to be approachable was his downfall. We will be bringing you all the information as it develops."

And with that, the newscaster went to commercial, and Lucas's nerves came back. Miraculously, they had made it on to their plane and into the air with no trouble. They had both gone over their back-up plan, in case the airport was shut down due to their handiwork, but for some reason it was smooth sailing. Andres had even gotten a nap in during the flight. On the other hand, Lucas was all too awake, and increasingly suspicious of their good fortune. Despite his better judgment, by now he had learned what Andres thought of any of his ideas or questions, Lucas spoke up as they walked out of the Argentinean airport they had arrived at.

"Is it just me, or is this too easy?"

"For once, I agree with you Dopey, hell, other jobs that I've taken have had more difficult escape plans. And this job is probably the biggest I ever had."

"What do you think the client is going to tell us?"

"Honestly Dopey, in high risk situations such as these, the most likely reaction will be violence. I think our client, who is the type of person to put a hit on the pope, will want to kill us."

"Shit!"

"Well, kill us or turn us in to the authorities, same thing really."

"What do we do?"

`"We have to be prepared."

"I hope you have a plan and you're not just talking out of your ass."

Andres glared at Lucas. Just then a black limousine pulled up to the two, the driver, a tall dark-skinned man got out and opened the passenger doors. As he did so, he addressed the two.

"Gentlemen. Mr. Vargas has been expecting you."

The sound of his voice was not pleasant, to say the least. It was a deep voice, the kind of voice that always had a threatening edge to it. What else could Lucas do in this situation but follow Andres's lead and get in the car, hoping that he had a plan.

As they rode along the road, Lucas could tell Andres was thinking something. The more experienced man kept balling his hand into a fist. Whatever it was that he was thinking, Lucas figured at least some of those thoughts were murderous. As the limousine pulled up to a large mansion, Lucas felt some relief over the fact that he himself was not their client. This relief was compounded when, as they got off the limousine and went to enter the mansion, Lucas saw Andres's pistol.

It did not take long for the two mercenaries to find themselves in front of their client. Seeing him face to face, Lucas had to admit he was surprised. The man did not have the look of someone who would put a hit on the pope, although to be fair he had met very few people who did. But the client, Lazaro Vargas, he now knew, looked almost normal. He was a middle-aged man by Lucas's guess, had a well-kept appearance, though the way his black hair was almost lathered in gel left something to be desired. He stifled a chuckle as he saw a beer belly fighting to stay inside the man's expensive looking suit. No doubt the high life had been good to him. Lucas's thoughts were interrupted however, as Vargas spoke up.

"Ah, hello gentlemen, it's good to see you."

"Cut the crap you rat bastard."

Lucas gulped, Andres was going to get both of them killed, especially if he kept talking like that.

"Mr. Andres, I would appreciate it if you did not take that tone with me."

"That's great. As for me, I would have appreciated not having to kill the spiritual leader of a religion. But hey, you know, small inconveniences can't be helped."

"I did not know you were a religious man Mr. Andres."

"Oh, I'm not. I just have this thing about, you know, fucking staying alive! And having so many people looking for me, and wanting me dead no doubt, does not help that!"

"I see, well, in that case I suppose I should apologize. Especially considering things for the both of you will be getting much harder."

"Why?" Lucas suddenly interjected, "Why kill the pope of all people?"

"Would you believe me, Mr. Lucas, if I told you that I did it, because I was bored? I've long ago passed the point of being able to use all of my wealth. Even this large mansion we're in, in a remote area of this country, was born out of a mild whim. I've just been so bored Mr. Lucas. Every day I wake up and it's the same routine, the same world. I figured I would put my money to good use and change it up a bit. Oh sure, some people will be angry, and there will be quite a lot of anguish and tears. But, it will be different, for a while at least. And when things go back to normal, as they usually do, I'll just have to stir up some more excitement."

"Fuckin' a buddy, this is not some Hollywood movie."

"Says the killer for hire. Now, if you are both done throwing a hissy fit because you did your jobs, we can finish this whole business."

"Yeah, I guess we can finish it." With that and before Vargas could react, Andres pulled out a pistol from behind him and fired two shots. Lucas saw Vargas clutch his chest, his eyes wide with surprise, and tumble to the ground, a pool of blood collecting beneath him.

A door opened in front of the two men, and Lucas, with no other options, took out his own pistol and shot the guard that had burst into the room. Andres took a moment to sneer at Vargas and then spoke.

"That's what you get for being a dumbass and not searching us thoroughly."

"Andres."

"Yeah Dopey?"

"Did you have any reason to think Vargas was actually gonna kill us?"

"Well, he was talking like a movie villain, what other option wouldtherebe?"

"I see. Andres?"

"What now?"

"You realize the man has more guards, who probably all heard the commotion and are more than likely rushing to this room?"

"Yeah."

"We're fucked aren't we?"

"Maybe you are, but I'm," he pointed to a window, "getting out of here."

Andres ran towards the window, Lucas behind him. Neither of them had many choices at that moment, so they both threw themselves against the window, crashing through it and tumbling to the ground. Their bones remained miraculously unscathed, but as they ran away from Vargas's mansion, they found it was not all good news.

"Andres, I am bleeding."

"I can see that Dopey."

"Quite a bit."

"A fair amount I would say."

"Okay, just making sure you still didn't give a rat's ass."

"Now you're learning. Just wrap something around it, once we find a town or something we'll see if we can fix it."

"What the hell are we gonna do now Andres?"

"Well, we've killed the pope, killed the man who ordered us to kill the pope, and killed one of his guards. So, in my professional opinion, we run."

And as they ran, and ran, Lucas allowed himself an inward sigh. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had chosen the wrong profession.