Itch
Merlin
gave the doorknob a turn and pushed it open for the twenty forth time. Today would
be the final day for this job. After what seemed like months, this task had
finally come to fruition. He’d practiced and perfected his plan for weeks until
he'd become completely confident in his ability. This time tomorrow he’d go for
a walk on the beach to celebrate. That’d be a nice reward for a job well done.
He closed the door and moved across the thin layer of pea gravel toward the
roof’s edge. Over his shoulder, he carried a black nylon silk lined bag.
At
the last landing, he’d pulled on his coveralls, nylon gloves, and rubber
booties. The gravel crunched and growled beneath his feet, but the result of
his foot attire would be no detectable prints on the roof. Merlin came up with
the rubber bootie idea, because he didn’t want to leave anything for the police
to ponder over and call evidence. He took great strides in his planning to
eradicate anything of the sort. He pulled a reed mat out of his bag and
unrolled it close to the edge. He lay down on the mat and slowly moved toward
the edge of the roof.
He’d
have about a quarter of an hour wait, but he wouldn’t be burning up that time
smoking. When he started his new profession, he knew that habit would be a
liability, so he gave it up. It’d been difficult at first, but when he got the
first installment in his bank account, he had no doubt he'd be able to maintain
his diligence. So far, he had, and that had been more than five years. Someday
when he retired, he might take it up again. He actually liked smoking. At one
time, it'd been one of the great joys in his life. Another joy had always been a
nice hot cup of coffee. When he really wanted something special, he’d add a
shot of Irish whiskey.
After he slipped the rifle out of the bag, he examined it for signs of trauma. Most people didn’t
know such a weapon could suffer trauma, but it certainly could. The slightest jolt could upset the alignment and render the most expensive weapon useless. Especially when
shooting from extended ranges, a fraction of imperfection at the origin of the
shot could result in a miss of several feet. It would be very embarrassing for
a paid assassin to call up his handler and try to explain he’d shot the
flowerpot instead of the mark because he bumped his weapon while getting into
his shooting position.
Today
that wouldn’t be a problem. After taking almost ten minutes to slowly and
meticulously inspect his weapon he felt satisfied. The L96 looked fine. Earlier,
he sighted it in at a vacant pasture in the hills. He couldn’t take the chance
of going to a shooting range and having some ambitious cops come asking
questions later of the employees. “Sure I remember a guy sighting in his scope
on that afternoon.” That’d be the beginning of the end. That’s why he’d
developed such an attention to detail. That’s where the devil lived.
Patience,
perseverance, and practice were the magical P's that made his profession
worthwhile. The money didn’t hurt either. What else paid a quarter of a million
dollars for a few days work?
He
raised the barrel of the weapon over the lip of the ledge. The image of the
empty driveway swam into view inside the scope. For the past twenty-three days,
it’d been vacant until approximately five forty five, and that would be in five
minutes. Merlin knew the mark had started dutifully making his way into the
killing zone. He knew this because the mark had developed a routine that he
adhered to with the utmost vehemence. Merlin knew other people like the mark,
and they all loved being able to walk away from the daily grind of life and
step into a world they'd created for themselves. It always proved to be a place
that pleased and soothed them and in turn gave them the courage and strength to
make it through one more day.
Merlin
gently placed the gun on the mat and picked up his compact binoculars. He
looked up the street and then down. He wasn’t looking for anything, in
particular, but then again, he was. He looked for anything that didn’t belong.
An oddity that set itself apart from anything that he'd seen in the past three
weeks. The low probability of seeing something out of the ordinary did not
diminish his need to search. He didn’t want to realize later handcuffed in the
back of a patrol car that the scene had been screaming for him to forget his
task and just get out. Right now, he hadn’t really broken any laws here, but
when he loaded and fired his gun, he’d become the prey. He believed his
attention to this detail would benefit him in the hunt to follow. One he
intended to last for a very long time.
The
sky overhead exhibited a brilliant blue with nary a cloud anywhere. Any wind
had been virtually non-existent for the last few days, and the weather radio
station had alluded to the possibility of a stagnant air warning if the
situation did not change. Perfect conditions for his eight hundred and fifty
five meter shot prevailed. After he completed this job he could tell his
handler, who called himself Gandalf, never to second guess his decisions again.
The guy had been pushing him to finish the job for almost a week now, but
Merlin told him he’d finish it when he felt ready and not a minute sooner. Gandalf
didn't like that, but that’s the way he did things. No one would ever tell him
when to pull the trigger. He had the patience necessary to complete a perfect
job. He’d never decide to finish a job until its completion would be a thing of
beauty.
The
afternoon sun had started to set behind him and the long thin shadow of the building
he'd stationed himself atop silently crawled over the distance and approached the
empty driveway. If, for some reason, the mark looked toward the rooftop upon
which he waited, his eyes would look directly into the evening sun. Merlin
planned this as well. He didn’t want anything to go wrong with this job. For no
reason other than he considered it a high profile hit. The mark had simply
become an itch to someone who would pay to have it permanently scratched.
Merlin knew all too well that tomorrow every cop in the city would be working
overtime to find him. He paused and gave his situation one last consideration.
Everything felt right. The time to finish what he’d started
had come. He pulled out a box from the bag and removed a single bullet from
inside. He looked at the shiny object that seemed to glow in the reddish light of
the afternoon sun. He put it to his lips and kissed it softly then placed it
into the open gun chamber. He closed the bolt and sent the bullet into the
firing position. He looked at his watch.
“Time for the final act to begin,”
Merlin said to himself in a barely audible whisper. He looked again over the
edge of the ledge at the empty driveway. “Now cooperate with me and don’t make
me wait. I’ve got a TV dinner in the oven at home, and it’s getting cold.”
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