Like a broken CD record, the text message I've received a few minutes ago kept repeating in my head.
He's on his way there, the text wrote.
I'd like to think of it as a mantra. With it, I willed myself to move faster. To release myself of this slow pacing. But I can't. Laziness is too strong within me. Especially when I've just woken up. Fudge, I need a less demanding life.
He's on his way there.
No need to panic, I tell myself. The café is probably not farther from me than it is to him. It's fine. He's on the process of going there, sure, but a process takes a long time. It has a beginning, a middle and an end. It's gonna be a drag to cover all of those areas. He's probably taking his time, enjoying the views of this horrid town.
He's arrived, the next message wrote.
Well, shit.
Cold sweat slid down my forehead as I double-checked my stuff and made sure I brought everything I needed. Any second spent here is suicide. I hefted my guitar case on my back and jerked open the door. It creaked rather loudly and I bet it almost woke up half of the senior citizens living in this apartment.
Phew! I haven't even left my room yet and I already had my eyes bugged out in annoyance. It was only four in the afternoon, but the oldies are already snoozing their way to dreamland. And I know very well how cranky they get if they're disturbed.
I stepped out of my room, fighting a grimace off my face as I slowly closed the door. For some reason, the damn creak has escalated in terms of its loudness. Once fully shut, I secured the door with two locks. Just as I was turning to leave, the door next to my room flew open.
"Dearie, where are you going?" A raspy voice declared, "Dinner's almost ready."
I suppressed a groan and watched as the old woman beckon me inside of her weird smelling room, where her TV was booming with the grueling news of the weather.
"It's mighty fine, Miss Harrington. I was just passing by the neighborhood and-"
"Nonsense! Come, come. I made casserole. They don't feed you kids as much as we did back in the days." She waved me off as she sluggishly dragged the soles of her feet inside and left the door open.
"I have an appointment with my... um... I have diarrhea. Bye!"
I swiftly moved to shut her door close and it felt a bit unfair that it didn't creak as loudly as mine.
Now that that was done, I sprinted down to the many stairs of the apartment and to the ground floor and out of the building in a flash. Various smells around the vicinity overwhelmed me. I was tempted to use a shortcut but I couldn't bother using the faulty elevator after hearing about the rumors that someone had died there, so it's my damn right not to risk my life riding it. Imagine having the most anticlimactic death ever.
Catching my breath, I gagged at the smoke that someone puffed while passing me. I ought to snatch his cigarette and stuff it down his throat. But he was already far from me so meh.
To say that I enjoy this part of town would be like saying vaccines cause autism. As in, it's bullshit. Mostly because people here tend to lash out more often because they're near a huge construction site. The old ones are apparently insensitive when it comes to outside noise since they sleep like the dead. But others are less tolerant. I only rented a room here because it was cheap and well hidden. Two of my most favorite words.
Aw, hell. I forgot I have a date. I started running ass off, taking the fastest route to my destination. I did not mean to be late. Sure I overslept, but no one needs to know that. I rounded the corner of Just A Bakery, narrowly missing a bicycler and a dog walker. I also had two honks at me when I crossed First Avenue. It was when I was running out of breath fast that I realized I really need to work out more.
I stopped at an old, worn out building squished in the middle of two shorter, but wider buildings. Its abandoned condition is evident. The lawn is overgrown, the stone walkway to the front door is consumed by weeds, and the facade's base is muddy. The building itself is stone-built, and the dirty windows are framed in metal. The front door is made of dark wood, and a stone arch embraces it. This was to be my vantage point. It looked like it would topple down at any second but if I was going for inconspicuous, it's as good as any.
Still catching my breath, I casually strode around the back of the structure, looking for the entry point. I found one just beside a dumpster full of well, judging by its smell, I'd rather not think about. I pictured myself a master thief by attempting to pick the lock. And as it turns out the lock is rusted and it broke apart easily. So much for sneaking.
The interior looked much worse, if that was at all possible. Cobwebs hung intricately across the door frame as I opened it more to let myself in. The main source of light came from a dusty window to my right, with beige curtains that looked decades old. I crept my way upstairs, carefully maneuvering around the dust ridden staircases. I grasped the handle of my guitar case as the smell of abandon struck me. I hope nothing had died here. Or is dying here.
I managed to reach top floor alive. Another door serves as a barrier. I nudged it a bit and it easily opened. So far, this entire ordeal has been a breeze. The rooftop wasn't much better. Pots of dead plants can be found scattered around the area, and empty wrappers of candy bar had been littered here as well, and stacks of old newspaper sat at the corner.
I dropped my case on the ground and took out my mini binoculars. I spotted the target location, which was a newly opened café and see the Volkswagen parked at the front but with no driver. Panic seized me again. Was I too late? My eyes scanned around the neighboring buildings. Nothing seems to be out of place. Except for the fact that the target was nowhere in sight. My hands felt for my phone in my pocket and took it out. No new messages. A string of profanities left my mouth. My tardiness had finally bitten me in the ass. But once again, my dumb luck comes to rescue me. As I looked through the binoculars again, the target I could easily recognize exited the crowded café. Intel told me that where he was was a meeting place of sort and that the client he's meeting was running late. And that client is my spotter. Adrenaline rushed through my veins. It's time.
I willed myself to calm down before clicking open my guitar case. Inside the guitar shaped compartment were parts of a sniper rifle. Clever, right? Wrong. This schtick is an overused cliché, but sometimes, its obviousness is what makes it improbable. But really, anyone who knows me would be less surprised seeing a gun in this case than knowing that I can play a guitar. Which I can't. They and I both know that I can't strum a correct guitar chord to save my life.
I assembled the sniper parts with ease. With the base sniper, I screwed the silencer in, checked the magazine, adjusted the cheek pad and tightened the fore grip. I was ready to roll.
Fifteen Minutes Later...
"That doesn't make any sense. What does your dumb motto have anything to do with your dumb profile picture? Fuckin' idiot."
I scrolled through Facebook on my phone and continued to cringe. As to why I even bother to watch people make a fool of themselves is beyond me. I put away my phone and peeked through my binoculars.
What a surprise. My target was still doing the same thing. His irregular back and forth pacing across the lot continued, and appeared to have worsen. I shivered at the cold wind travelling across my spine. Talk about bad luck. I kinda jinxed myself earlier when I said everything was going smoothly. Which was obviously not the case anymore. The wind's picking up. It matters because my scope was substandard so wind speeds matter a lot more, and getting closer would be opening a can of worms.
I cursed for the twentieth time today when I felt my legs starting to cramp up. The cramps grew intense so I let go of my sniper rifle and limped up. I tried to stretch away the muscle pain for a couple of times. When I felt like my blood had circulated normally again, I resumed on my previous position.
The guy was beginning to leave a trail from his incessant pacing. He would have already gone his way to purgatory if he wasn't so uncooperative. My spotter was purposely delaying the meeting because this fool apparently wanted the meeting to be more private. The café was just going to be a rendezvous and following them to their actual meeting place would be difficult. And my spotter should never have to show up, anyway.
I heaved a dramatic sigh and begrudgingly continued observing the target. My spotter told me that the target drove a red Volkswagen with a plate number of G472, and said target was about five foot seven inches in height, overweight, and has a bald head, thick beard and a weird fashion sense. The middle-aged man, who I safely assumed was the target, just couldn't stay still even for a second. The whole fifteen minutes was spent watching him bump on customers near the entrance because he was too absorbed in his phone. If only this baboon could just stay still...
I was inexperienced when it comes to moving targets. Especially now that the wind is being inconsiderate. And not to mention, sniping moving targets is risky given that the the café was awfully crowded at the moment with people constantly going in and out.
By the grace of all that is holy, the man finally sat down at a recently vacant chair. He was actually just waiting for the seat. He has a friggin' Volkswagen. Couldn't he have just sat there? I took hold of my sniper and carefully aimed the cross hair just a few inches near his head. I then took a steady breath.
Judging from the wind's strength, where I was aiming at should indirectly hit him in the head. But am I sure? Possible other casualties. Maybe ten. Or more. Fudge, I'm wasting time.
I gotta let go of my doubts. I can do this. If the universe wants this guy dead, then the bullet has to hit him no matter what, right? I must be the worst sniper in the whole damn world if this is my only basis of assassination. But luckily, I'm not all bad. I'm Godlike when it comes to FPS games. This shouldn't be any different. Wait, I've done this before. Why am I stalling? Oh, right. Because I'm not entirely sure if this shot can hit since this has yet to be my farthest target.
My finger slid along my sniper's trigger. I was hesitant in taking one last look at the man's face.
"Sorry," I whispered.
As soon as my finger flicked, I sneezed so hard that I wasn't entirely sure where the recoil came from. It took me a solid three seconds to process the realization.
"OH MY GOD." I scrambled to peek through my scope, and sighed in relief. That bloody hole in the target's forehead comforted me more than it should. Now you know what my dumb luck is capable of. It stands up to its name because it really was fucking dumb.
A smile tugged at my lips. But I was quick to draw my eyes away from the scene. I was told that he is- was a horrible man. The meeting was supposed to be about a sex trafficking deal. This atrociously dressed criminal stood among an oblivious crowd. It boils my blood. This... This animal had taken all of what a man lives for and gained it as his own. He had tortured innocent men and women and children. And now he's dead. He's dead, and I was the one who made it possible.
I did good... right?
Well, in terms of sniping skills; not so much, no.
I scoped back to the actual scene and can't help but cringe. So this is what making a fool of myself looks like. Why yes, that crying little boy shouldn't have been so close to that dead man and yes, a stray bullet would have occupied in that panicking old lady who had been sitting close to him and yes, I'm the world's biggest idiot for almost killing them.
Back at the fiesta happening both outside and inside of the café, onlookers scattered like ants, flailing their hands around in panic as the crimson blood continued to ooze out of the target's head wound. It was a grizzly sight, so someone with half a brain might have already alerted the cops. It won't be long till they'd arrive. OK, then what the hell am I still doing here?
I braced myself on the cold cement as I sneezed again and again and again. I might have a cold. The largest sneeze ever (since not so long ago, any way) broke out of me and I swear that my nose almost launched itself off my face. I disassembled my sniper rifle and hurriedly packed the weapon inside the guitar case while muffling another set of sneezes with its leather strap.
I made my way off this piss-smelling rooftop and staggered a bit when my head started to feel dizzy. I was forced to blindly grasp the brittle wooden handles of the staircase as I was steadily descending downstairs. Checking my surroundings and my stuff, I zoomed through the alleyway.
Check and mate.