Thoughts.com Blogs

View Blog

Cross.

The man with the finely tailored suit and bright aluminium attaché case enters the top floor office and the woman, peering intently at the computer screen, stands up sharply. On the roof of the building opposite, the assassin gently caresses the mechanism of the telescopic site of the rifle and, with the cross-hairs centred on the man’s chest, follows his hasty movement across the spacious office.
“What are you doing here, Kerin?” he asks, his voice low and even, “I thought this was girls’ night out.”
“I know what you are up to, Eric, and I’m not going to let you do it, you bastard.” She crosses her arms over her breasts and glares at him over the top of her reading glasses.
“Kerin, dear, I don’t know what you are talking about.” He crosses the office toward the desk and his eyes slide first over the screen of the computer showing tables of figures, and then his eyes slide over the luxurious curves of his soon-to-be ex-wife’s body. He smiles slightly. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Stop playing games with me, Eric. I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes!”
“Don’t be so excitable, dear. You know you’ve never been good with numbers, that is except for the number of the bartender at Mario’s Bistro. You’ve always been much better at spreading your legs.” He turns away from the desk, smiling slightly again at his own joke, and moves toward the bar by the window with the aluminium attaché still gripped tightly in his left hand.
From his perch on the opposite rooftop, the assassin watches all of this. Scarcely shifting, he produces a high velocity bullet from his vest and slides it into the chamber of the rifle. He presses a button, and the pneumatic pump gently and silently pushes the bullet into position. The assassin breathes deeply and draws the stock of the rifle tightly against his shoulder.
The man removes the heavy stopper from the cut crystal decanter and pours himself three fingers of scotch. He replaces the stopper, takes the glass in hand and turns back.
“So what is it that you think you know, dear?” he asks and takes a deep swallow from the glass, savouring the rich, aged flavours.
“I know that you’ve been liquidating the funds and cashing out. I know that you’ve been sequestering the funds in a numbered account. You are trying to bankrupt us before the divorce is final so you can move to the Bahamas with that little slut of yours.”
He gazes impassively at her and takes another drink.
“I also know that it’s not going to finish like you thought, Eric.”
“Oh? Touché. And why is that, dear?”
“I’m going to give you a chance to return the money…”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“I just want you to say you’ll do it…”
“I don’t think that will be possible…”
“Then I think you’d like to know that on the rooftop opposite, there is a rifle pointed at you.” Here she gestures vaguely with her arm toward the darkness outside the window.
At the same moment, the assassin removes the glove from his right hand and slides his index finger into the comfortable and familiar position curved around the rifle’s trigger. He gazes through the sight at the gentle movement of the man’s chest rising and falling, and waits for the signal.
“That’s a dangerous game to play, Kerin.” His eyes are now narrowed as he finishes the drink and puts down the glass. He looks cautiously toward the window but does not flinch.
“Look, you cheap fuck,” she exclaims and waves her bejewelled fingers at him, “there is no way that whore of yours is getting what is mine!”
“Alright then, dear, we’ll play your way.” He raises the aluminium case and rests it on the desk. He flips the locks and opens the case, giving Kerin the opportunity to view the neat bundles of 100 dollar bills stacked inside; a fortune.
At the sign of the case opening, the assassin sucks in his breath and holds it. The rifle sight swings scant degrees to the left to centre on the deep cleavage between Kerin’s breasts. He instinctively draws his eye away from the recoil of the scope and squeezes the trigger.
The bullet is propelled outwards with the faint sound of air and a barely perceptible subsonic impact. It travels the distance across the street toward the other building in only a few thousandths of a second. It’s speed is so great that it silently punches a neat hole in the window of the office. However, since the angle of the impact with the glass is not straight passing through the window, the bullet begins to tumble.
In this way, the bullet enters Kerin’s chest and causes most of her sternum to explode outward. It passes though her heart and reduces it to tatters. Finally, it explodes out of her back taking two thoracic vertebrae with it, and finishes, with a vague mist of blood and tissue and bone hanging behind it, lodged in the wall.
Kerin’s spine collapses and the rest of her body follows. She is on the floor without ever knowing that she was shot.
Eric breathes deeply and tries to control his panic and rising urge to vomit. With fingers that are no longer steady, he closes the case and locks it. He reaches for the phone and dials the emergency number. The phone rings once and connects.
“This is Toronto Emergency Services. Please state the nature of your emergency.” The operator is calm and direct.
Eric takes a deep breath.
“It’s my wife! Oh my God! She’s been shot! Please help her! Oh my God! She’s bleeding…it just came out of nowhere!”
The emergency operator guides him through revealing his location and then he hangs up. He scoops up the laptop computer from the desk and leaves the office.
On the rooftop, the assassin calmly returns the glove to his hand and then wipes the trigger. On the ground beside him a similarly dark clad figure lies inert with a hunting knife buried to the hilt at the base of the neck. The assassin places his boot between the shoulders of the corpse and, with a sucking noise, he manages to withdraw the toothed knife. He takes a plastic bag from his pocket and carefully slips the knife inside and then slides it inside his vest. He retrieves the spent shell from the gravel of the roof and then silently runs toward the exit door.
Moments later the two men meet on the sidewalk.
“That’s two very neatly done,” says the assassin.
Eric gazes at the cold, dark eyes of the man and hands him the attaché.
“Two,” he says, “plus a little extra. You’ll be on a plane within an hour?”
“It’s already arranged.”
The two men nod and the assassin disappears into the night.
Eric stands on the sidewalk and begins to dishevel his clothing. A grin spreads across his face. In the distance, there is the sound of an ambulance approaching.