"Well, chief, to be completely honest, he looks like he just stepped outta the Vatican." Pip's normally gregarious voice dropped to a frightened whisper. "He scares me, chief. He scares me bad."
Suppressing a chuckle, Marcos replied, "Yeah, I know who you're talking about, then. I know, he gives off this spooky vibe, but you'll get used to it soon enough. Tell Father Dominguez that I'll meet him in the usual place in..." Marcos checked his watch, "thirty-six hours, alright?"
"Roger, chief. So, you know this guy, then?"
"Enh, something like that. Now get back to work, Pip, or so help me, I will track you down and kill you in your sleep" replied the now wide-awake mercenary.
"Right-o, chief. Glad to know you really care about us little guys" said Pip, still uneasy about the stranger in Holy vestments.
Marcos, now pinching the bridge of his nose in the classic pose of the frustrated, said to his underling, "Goddamn I hate you, Pip. Why did I hire you?"
"Because you love the sound of my voice?"
Ramirez gave a heavy sigh, and said, "Just... do whatever the hell you're supposed to be doing, Pip. I don't care" before pushing the red 'end' button on his cell phone.
He laid back on the bed, closed his eyes, and replayed the conversation in his head. Three things stuck out as bad signs. First, was the fact that Alfonso Dominguez had asked for him by name. Second, the elderly priest was in need of help. Finally, and most worryingly, the last time Dominguez had asked for help was ten years ago, in Mexico. Something big must be happening, thought Marcos, to make the old man scared.
"Well," said the grizzled mercenary, to the empty hotel room, "Shit."