Chapter One section three:

It looks like I chose a good month to start writing again. November is National Novel Writing month. The gist is to write your novel (they estimate 50000 words) in 30 days. Now I figured that out, it's about 333 words per day. I don't know if I can do that even with 8 chapters already done. But I have to try. Several of my friends are doing it as well. So I'll measure my worth by that stick.
If you're interested it's probably already too late. It start Nov. 1st.
Here's today addition:

Trying not to work too fast, Rook found himself ripping the fake printer ribbon from it’s sewn-in hiding place in his pants leg. In the process, he not only took the bottom eight inches of pants leg with it, but also a screamable amount of leg hair. As his eyes rolled with the pain, he clenched his teeth trying not to scream. After all, he was a professional.

Focusing past the evident pain, Rook managed to put the fake ribbon in place while placing the stolen printer ribbon into an airtight plastic bag he had lifted from the kitchen.

Another three shots in a row snapped his mind back to the more pressing problem. Feeling down his back, he placed the bag into his cummerbund while removing his custom made Sig-Sauer P-220 into his left hand. Making his way back across the cabin, he stopped in the doorway trying to deduce the make and model of the weapon being fired. From the methodical rhythm of shots, he was positive it must be an execution style killing. Had Shige dared to mess with the Yakuza? Or had the Yakuza finally gotten tired of Shige’s high prices? Either way, this little killing spree was not in the notes about this mission and that meant resorting to plan B…head for moisture and swim like hell.

Waiting for one more round of shots to be fired (12 gauge definitely), Rook slammed the cabin door open and made his way back topside into the light of day. The first thing to run through his mind upon setting foot on the deck was, “Why is everyone staring at me?” which was followed closely by, “What an odd time to shoot skeet.”

What Rook (or, as Bishop would say right now “Rookie”) had just blown in stealth, he decided to make up for in surprise. He also noticed at that same instance, from the size of the weaponry every man in a suit just pulled out, the Yakuza didn’t believe in ‘wound’em and take’em alive’.

There is an old cliche’ about a point of no return, and with a few curse words intermingled, Rook kept repeating this phrase to himself in the twelve languages he had been taught. In his own mind, it seemed to improve his aim.