The weather was crisp and clear, rain, snow not even frost could be seen on the ground below him, just an odd streetlamp at the base of this three story house, the yellow light from the streetlamp casting an eerie glow which flooded the street.
He stood for a while, as if waiting for something to happen. But why? Minutes passed and he remained silent and completely still, not taking his piercing eyes off the street below.
Just then, the church clock started to chime, twelve chimes in all, it was midnight. He turned on the spot and unzipped the long bag. This time moving faster but still not rushing. He reached inside and grabbed some binoculars, wiped the end of the lenses with his shirt and peered over the end. He could see a door open and a woman wave her dog in from a run in the garden and then the door closing once again behind her. He was obviously waiting for something to happen, or for someone.
Half an hour passed and the weather took a change for the worse. It started to rain, not hard, but enough to stop him clearly seeing what he was doing. He reached inside his long, black jacket and pulled out the metallic black object he had carefully placed in there earlier and looked at it once again, a glint of light shooting across the round, shiny surface. He reached in to the bag and pulled out two items. One, a long cylindrical shape and the other, long and rounded but with a bulge on the end. The cylindrical object was fitted to the end of his granite black metallic implement and the other slid on to the top. Now forming the unmistakable shape of a gun. He looked through the sight and pointed it around, placed it on the wall next to him and reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a box. He struggled to open it, the rain causing the metal surface to become slippery and awkward to open. He rived at it with his teeth, sending the box crashing to the ground and the contents scattering around his feet. The expression on his face showing he was annoyed with his own clumsiness. He picked up the contents, placed them in his pocket, selected one and loaded it into his gun leaving the safety catch on. The gun was ready. He placed it on the floor beside him, fastened his jacket and lay down. He inched along the damp, gritty ground slowly; the friction between the gravel and him was making it difficult to maneuver. He then grasped a hole in the wall and pulled him self through, The gap was about a foot tall and two feet wide so only his head and the gun could squeeze through the gap. He was now ready, ready for whatever was about to happen.
He stared at the street below, not moving, but once again picking up the radio and speaking into it.
‘How long now?’
‘Just hang in there,’ said the voice on the other end.
‘He’s taking longer than you said,’ he complained impatiently.
‘Hold on! Just hang in there,’ he repeated.
He did not reply to this, instead he remained focused and kept his fierce, piercing eyes on the street below.
The club, ‘Live Now’ was closing and people were beginning to leave.
‘I think he’s coming,’ he told the man on the other end of the radio.
‘Good! Good! At last.’
‘I know. I’ve been stood on the roof you know! I’m kind of cold’
People were pouring out of the club fast and moving off in massive groups.
‘There are too many people here!’
‘I can’t see him, it’s too crowded!’
‘You’ll notice him. He is wearing smart clothes and his hair is blonde with a green fringe. Find him,’ the man instructed him.
He was there, his green fringe making him unmissable, just lighting up a cigarette, staggering around, shouting to some woman across the road.
‘I’ve seen him. Target in sight’
He lifted the gun; now glinting even more as it was wet, He pulled his shirt through the top of his jacket and wiped the lens of the sight, lifted the gun and rested it between a crack that lined the wall.
‘Come on,’ he thought to himself
He looked through the sight and saw his target. His victim was
Still unsteady on his feet and shouting, obviously had a good night.
The crowds were disappearing quickly and he was alone, a perfect opportunity to take him out. He knocked the safety catch off and lined himself up, he now had a clear shot of his head, he was waiting for confirmation to go ahead and shoot.
‘I have a clear shot’
‘OK, go for it.’ He replied.
He paused looking at his victim’s head, moved his hands so he could get a better grip and put his finger on the trigger. He was set. No thoughts crossed his mind when he pulled the last few millimeters of the trigger, just relieved he could finally get out of there.
BANG!
There was a trickle of blood where he fell and a small hole in the back of his head, the only sign that he had been shot.
“You OK?” his accomplice shouted through his earpiece.
He didn’t reply.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
Still no reply.
“Are you there? Are you there? What’s happening?”
There was an eerie silence.
“You’re supposed to be the best! They told me you were the best! “, he shouted. Worried now, he ran to the house and up three flights of stairs. Clambering through the hatch he could see him.
“You’re there! “.
But still he didn’t reply and he didn’t move; only lay there in the same position as before, his gun pointing forward. Then he noticed the small hole in the back of his head, trickling blood. He was obviously dead.
The target had fled but behind the assassin, in the window of
An abandoned house across the way stood a man, around six feet three and built like a bull. He had the same piercing eyes and the same cold looking face. He just stared, emotionless, then began dismantling his gun, putting the sights into his long bag and his box of bullets back into his coat pocket.
This assassin had been successful. His working day had ended well and he still had a family to go home to.
The assassin had been assassinated.
