Posted by Max5s on June 03, 2001 at 00:41:38:
For those who aim higher than I.
The Long Shot
By Max5s
The car was waiting for me when I got to the airport. My equipment had been carefully placed in the trunk, and an envelope with a photo and a few instructions had been pushed under the right front seat. I was admittedly curious as to who the target was, but after 55 contracts, a guy has to maintain a little suspense in his life to keep the job interesting. This was set-up job anyway, so I didn’t really need to do any “behavioral study” before I pulled the trigger. Morning would be soon enough to check out the photo.
The Shelter Point Marina and Hotel is one of San Diego’s better hotels, just don’t try to pay for your room with cash. They don’t keep any change at the front desk, and unless you put down a credit card or some other form of deposit, you can’t use room service, the TV or any of the other conveniences that the resort has to offer. But the rooms are pretty nice. Mine’s the size of a small apartment. There’s a bedroom, kitchenette and living room and a nice view of the marina below.
In the morning, my target would be on one of the yachts moored about 100 meters from my window. As I mentioned earlier, his identity was in the envelope that Petra had placed in my car. She’ll be with him on the boat. I guess she wants to witness the act up close and personal. It’s a dangerous idea, and I tried to convince her to stay out of it, but as my friend David is always saying (when he’s sober enough to talk) “You can tell ‘em, but you can’t expect ‘em to pay any attention.” Petra’s a stubborn Brit, and I’m sure she’ll be right where she shouldn’t be.
Breakfast consisted of a bag of double chocolate milanos and a cup of coffee. Not exactly health food, but who said this profession was healthy? Who knows when you’ll do your last job, or when someone will do a job on you? The actuaries don’t figure members of this profession should be eligible for life insurance, so why not enjoy the sweeter things in life?
At 10 AM I opened the envelope. A 3x5 card fell out with the words “Annabel Lee” written on it. Obviously, it was the name of the target’s boat. As I peered out the window, I could see it quite clearly. It was almost straight across the little channel separating my room from the docks. It looked like it was about 60 feet in length and motorized to boot. After about 15 minutes, I saw Petra step out of the cabin and settle on a bench around the edge of the deck. “It’s show time,” I muttered to myself as I turned to open my case.
My rifle was a highly modified Ruger 10-22. The silencer was built into the barrel, and the scope was permanently attached to the receiver. I slipped the action/barrel assembly into the polished walnut stock and tightened the bolt that held it in place. The magazine was already loaded, so I snapped it in place and slid a round into the chamber.
I finally pulled the photo out of the envelope. As I looked at the face, I could feel my blood chill. My lungs didn’t want to breathe, and my legs didn’t want to move. I’d never gotten cold feet on a job before, but I could feel myself wanting to run. I felt all of those things that a professional in THIS business shouldn’t be able to feel at all.
The warm breeze coming in through the window calmed me down a bit. I picked up the rifle and set it on the sill. Slowly I scanned the little harbor and let the cross-hairs come to rest on the Annabel Lee. As if on queue, Petra stood up and walked over to the stern of the boat. I could see the sun reflecting off her sunglasses as she stared straight at me while raising her arms and letting her long, delicate fingers slide through her beautiful hair. Her hands met at the base of her neck, then she kind of flipped her wrist and brought long mane down in a ponytail that covered her right breast and reached down to the top of her jet black, V-cut bikini bottoms. Petra bent down and picked up a plastic bottle of Ban du Solei and squeezed a dab of it into her hand. With a slow, circular motion, she began spreading it on her belly. She rubbed it in; first with one hand and finally with both. She took extra care as she smeared a white mass of it over her navel, then massaged it in with her fingertip. Her eyes never left my window as she performed her little act.
It kept bothering me as to why Petra wanted to be here. To watch as I, and I mean “I” as in ME, tore the life away from my target. No answer came to mind, but I knew from past experience that it was a very deliberately calculated move on her part. As I watched her through the scope, the name of the boat, stenciled on the back end, kept popping into my field of view. It was the same type of font as the label on her office door. “Petra A. Lee” was on that door. Poe crept into mind again.
“And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.”
Was it competition that was the motivation for this contract?
Sonya stepped out onto the deck and set herself down on a lounge chair. Her short, blonde hair on top of a one piece, hot pink suit that that was cut down the front to her navel stunned me as if Venus herself had come into my room. Her aging Dobie took up a position between her and the walkway along side the boat. The twelve power scope made me feel like I was sitting in front of her like we used to sit when we’d get in a friendly though heated debate of how best to trash a certain pest that kept popping up on her website. She hadn’t changed much in two years, except to get in Petra’s way. Heaven only knows for sure how that happened. In the past, I’d never asked why. I just pulled the trigger and collected the cash. The KISS principle was my method of operation. Keep It Simple, Stupid. And it had worked well for me in the past.
Petra smeared more lotion on her hands then kneeled behind Sonya. Her hands reached from behind and slowly rubbed the cool cream on Sonya’s neck, then on the tender area between her breasts. I wasn’t sure if this was done for my benefit or hers, but Sonya responded by turning around and slapping Petra across the face. Petra glared at Sonya, then looked up at me with a “Do the bitch NOW!” expression. Then she then turned around, walked into the cabin and sat down where she could watch; waiting for the shoe (or sandal) to drop. Waiting to see the small drops of crimson trickling down between the lightly tanned breasts of her enemy of the moment.
The cross-hairs were very fine in width, and as I let them stroke the gentle curve of Sonya’s neck, I could smell the faint odor of her perfume. Sweet, yet subtle. A scent that was linked only to her through some inexplicable mechanism of her body chemistry. It was like a pheromone drawing me to her. Slowly I cupped her breast with those perpendicular black lines. The fragrance of cocoa butter replaced that of perfume. I could feel her heart beating in my trigger finger as I found where her nipple pushed against the vibrant, pink fabric. Sonya’s eyes closed and her left knee raised slightly and crossed over her right, subtly compressing her mons. As her leg swayed back, my focus came down along the V, zig-zagging around the narrowing field of skin until it found the depths of her navel. As my imagination swirled around in the shallow depression, she shifted uncomfortably, her hand coming up to block my view.
I took a deep breath and realized that not only was I fully erect, but my body felt hot, almost feverish. Perspiration forming on my brow was slowly running into my eyes and burning like hell. This wasn’t the cold, insensitive feeling I grown used to over the years. I’d killed several young women in the past. It had been an erotic treat, but this; this was the first time it had initiated feelings of passion.
I looked back through the glass and let the cross-hairs rest squarely on the most tender part of her crotch. I ached for her. I wanted to taste her, to feel her legs squeezing against my ears then locking around my waist. I wanted to feel the penetration once again. I wanted to bathe in her embrace and share the pleasure that I felt in her arms.
The pounding of my heart was pushing my finger against the trigger. I had reached my own resolution and carefully centered the cross-hairs on my victims left breast. Her eyes were on me, suddenly looking impatient. “Do it now,” said the voice in my head. Then the rifle bucked against my arm as 40 grains of lead sped down the barrel. I heard the action open and close as the rifle cycled in a new round. A small red flower opened up next to her nipple and she shook violently. For a second, her face was blank, then she looked down at the wound. As she looked back at me, I could see a small spot of red under her eye; no doubt a bit of blood spatter. The rifle bucked again, and another small projectile burned through her breast, this time slipping between a pair of ribs and bouncing around in her chest cavity. I tried to imagine what she must have been feeling as she stood there facing death. Did it hurt, or just sting a lot? I do know that for a moment, she was in a state of confusion and disbelief. Her right hand pulled the fabric away and as she held her naked breast, blood oozed from the tiny little holes and coated her hands with a crimson veil. Weakened, she fell back to a sitting position. Her head fell forward on her chest and her hands left bloody streaks on her belly as they fell to her side. When I knew she was beyond feeling, I fired one more round through the top of her forehead. She shook slightly then toppled backward, and I knew my work was complete. Again, I thought of Poe; Poe revised, that is. And I chuckled to myself as I made up the words.
“The wind came out of a cloud of smoke
Killing my Petra LEE.”
As I packed up my equipment, I felt much more relaxed than I’d been in a long while. Once I had all my shit together, I took one more look at the Annabel Lee. Sonya was still lying there on the lounge while Petra lay in an awkward position on a crimson drenched couch. Sonya looked as though she was sleeping. Apparently, neither she nor the dog noticed a thing. Petra looked more the victim of a nightmare, a Freddie Kruger dessert; beautiful but very dead.
I hated to just leave Sonya there to fend for herself. Unfortunately she’ll have a lot of explaining to do after she calls the police. But then she’s real good at talking.