Ranger and Tank had just finished their discussion on Tank’s salary and job duties when a knock came at the office door.  “Come in,” said Ranger. 

The man who walked through the door was of indeterminate origin, maybe Puerto Rican, maybe not.  He was big, just a few inches taller than Ranger himself.  It was obvious that he had some weight training experience as the black silk short-sleeve shirt he wore strained over his shoulders and biceps.  He wore charcoal gray slacks with black socks and expensive Italian loafers.  A thick gold chain lay at the base of his throat, showcased by the open collar of his shirt.  His black hair was cut short, with fashionably spiked ends on top.  He stopped in the doorway and gave a measuring, confident look to both Ranger and Tank.  “Hello.  I’m here about the job opening.”

Ranger stared at him for almost a minute before he motioned him in to sit across the desk from them.  Tank leaned against the wall behind Ranger’s chair, a big dark mountain casting a quietly menacing shadow over the room.  The man handed Ranger his paperwork and Ranger looked it over without comment.

“Lester Santos, age 26.  Six-two, 205 lbs.  Graduated out of Annapolis with distinction.  Three years in the SEALS.”  Ranger flipped back through the personal history.  “Three day suspension from the academy as a first-class midshipman?” asked Ranger. 

Tank chuckled and shook his head, “Not very bright, Seal.  Master Chief’s don’t tend to come with a sense of humor.”

Lester grinned and waggled his eyebrows, “Yeah, but they do tend to have very hot women.”

“Weapons and munitions expert.  US Navy’s Marksmanship Medal in both pistol and rifle,” Ranger stated and Lester puffed up a little with pride.

Lester straightened up in his seat, all humor and arrogance wiped from his face by the disapproval in Ranger’s voice and demeanor.  “We were sent out on a mission where we were required to spend 32 hours in 45 degree water.  I caught pneumonia and was sick as a dog.  My sergeant was a world-class prick.  When I didn’t show up at first formation he came looking for me.  He dumped me out of my bunk and I came up swinging.”

“Any charge of assaulting a commanding officer?” asked Tank.

“Lucky you,” Tank said to Lester, “quick reflexes saved you from a court martial.”

“So how’d you get the Article 15?” asked Ranger.

“When he told me to get my ass in formation, I told him to get fucked.”

“Yeah, that would do it,” said Tank. 

“Listen up, Santos,” Ranger said as he tossed Lester’s resume on the desk.  “You work for me, you follow orders.  I have no patience for problem children.  I’m not your mother and I’m not your fucking babysitter.  I tell you to do something. Once.” He held up a finger and then pointed it at Lester. “You give me any shit and I’ll kick your ass.  That is not a euphemism.  I will kick your ass and then I’ll fire you.  I’ve seen your type before, I wasn’t impressed then and I’m not now.  I’m going to hire you because you have the skills I need.  But it’s probationary.  You want to work for me permanently?  Impress me.”

Lester swallowed hard and leveled his gaze at Ranger, “Yes, sir.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lester shook both Ranger’s and Tank’s hands and headed for the door.  He had just crossed the threshold when he was bumped by a large woman in black leather.  He stopped and turned to watch her walk through the door and into the office.  He raised eyebrows to Ranger but then shrugged and continued out the door.

“I’m here for the job,” the woman said.  She tossed a resume and some backup paperwork on the desk and stood with her hands on her hips. 

Ranger raised an eyebrow and looked her over skeptically.  She was about 5’7”, with bleached blonde hair teased within an inch of its life and she had laid her makeup on with a trowel.  Her eyes were lined with heavy black and she had blue eyeshadow and blood-red lips.  She was dressed in a black leather vest with only the bottom three buttons fastened.  Her breasts were so large and pushed so high that the edge of the leather just barely covered her nipples.  Black, skin-tight leather pants encased her legs and she had black high-heeled boots that went almost up to her knee.  Either she was an escapee from Dominatrix R Us or Stark Street was missing a hooker. 

“I don’t have you on my list of interviews today Miss…” Ranger said politely.

“It’s Ms.  Ms. Joyce Barnhardt.  And you should have gotten a call from my husband, well, my ex-husband.  Sergeant Major Ross Lambidowski.  He was supposed to call and tell you to hire me.”

Tank cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, ma’am but what job are you applying for?”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Duh, the security job.  I’m a bounty hunter.”

Ranger looked down at the papers on his desk, shook his head slightly and reached to pick them up.  “Have a seat and I’ll review your qualifications.”

“Joyce Barnhardt, age 32.  Shampoo girl for Curl A Whirl beauty salon, completed 11^th grade at Trenton High.  Worked for 3 months at Fort Hood Army base.  What did you do at Fort Hood?”

“I waited tables at the Officer’s Club.”

“Oh, I see,” Ranger said.  He set the papers down and gave her the blankest look he could manage.  “Ms. Barnhardt.  I’m sorry, but you just are not qualified for this position.”

She jumped to her feet, nearly bursting the fragile buttons on her vest.  “What?!” she yelled, stomping her foot. “I am perfect for this job!  Look at me!” she said as she threw her hands out to the sides.  “I’m a bounty hunter!  I’ve got the clothes, I’ve got a black Honda outside and I’ve even got a gun!”  She pulled a 9mm Glock out of her back waistband. 

Ranger instinctively went for his own gun but Tank reached out and snatched the gun from her hand.  He set the safety and placed it on Ranger’s desk.  Ranger went to stand but Joyce placed her hands in the middle of his desk and leaned over it to get closer to him.  “I want this job.  What’s it going to take for you to give it to me?”  Her breasts pushed against the confines of the leather and the button holding the vest together just below her bustline started to slip.

“Those aren’t government issue,” muttered Tank. 

Ranger coughed to hide the bark of laughter and schooled his face back to blankness.  He leaned back away from her and shook his head.  “Please see yourself out.  I’m not hiring you.”

“You mean to tell me that you’re turning me down?!  What are you, gay?!”  She stomped toward the door.  “I can’t believe I married that sweathog Ross and wasted 3 miserable months of my life at that godforsaken Army base just to have him flake on getting me a job.  I’m gonna nail that little sucker for alimony – bet your ass!”  She stormed out of the office and Tank and Ranger could only watch her go in stunned silence.

Jodie:  Cadence song that soldiers use to help pass time while running.

30 seconds:  The United States Military code states that a soldier is not responsible for their actions within 30 seconds of hitting the floor from a dead sleep.