The Hit

Reads: 51  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Inspired by a comment made by Joe Stuart on one of my posts yesterday. Thanks, Joe!

Submitted: July 29, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 29, 2017

A A A

A A A


The Hit.

There is a time in life when we seem to become invisible. At least that’s what happens to those of us that are not exceptionally beautiful or wealthy. Past the age of drawing the eye, and not yet being really old. Middle-aged, average, completely unremarkable – perfect for my line of work.

I am an assassin. Not a very accomplished one, that’s true, but I get by. Fifty years old, average height, average weight. I wear standard clothes for my age, have totally unremarkable hair, and I wear glasses. I guess if someone looked at me they might see a housewife or maybe a teacher from a state school. No one to take notice of anyway. And that really is the secret to my success.

As a rule, the people I am employed to......remove......are pretty average too. Not normally much of a problem as there are usually no other people around. I am given a time, a place, a photo, and it really is that simple. Nobody sees me arrive or leave. And if they did, they would see a housewife with a couple of bags of shopping, and no one likes to notice that in case they then feel obliged to lend a hand.

But this job is different, a public execution to teach others a lesson. Not my normal line of work and really I should have said no. Money was a bit tight, bills were piling up and the pay was just that bit higher than normal to sway my better judgement. I had swallowed my unease and took the job.

I don’t like to brag but I really am a remarkable shot. I only ever have one bullet loaded in my gun and I have not missed my target once. This, of course, made it kind of handy when I was faced with working in a public place. I could use a tiny gun, one no one would see, and just line up that one single shot while I remained one of the invisible majority.

Bradley Burton was seated on a chair at the back of the podium. He was easily recognizhis thick, swept-back silver and black streaked hair. No trying to blend in with the masses by Mr. Burton! My position was perfect. Nobody would even notice until he was called upon to speak and did not move. By that time I would be long gone.

I reached my right hand into my pocket, got the grip of the gun nice and comfortable. There was a call for questions from the audience; that should keep everyone nice and occupied. Everything is going so well, too well; the person on my left raises their arm to ask a question, their arm brushes against the side of my face and my glasses go flying!

Now, I am almost as blind as a bat without them! I can only see things that are very close up. How on earth am I going to find my glasses in amongst the surrounding feet? I remove my hand from my pocket and bend down to search with both hands. I just get a glimpse of what I presume are my glasses when a foot steps back and crushes them with a sickening crunch. I reach out and pick them up but they are useless now. The frames are mangled and the lenses are broken to pieces.

Now what? I stand back up and squint towards the podium. I can kind of make out something silver and grey in roughly the right direction. I’m going to have to take a chance on it as I need the money from the job even more now. I just have to hope that he does not choose this moment to move.

I reach my hand into my pocket and search for the grip of my little gun. It’s not there! Not where it should be. My fingers scrabble around, going deep into my pocket now, but there is nothing. It isn’t there. I try my left hand pocket, just in case I swapped hands, muddled it up. Nothing but an old scrunched up tissue.

The people around me are pushing forward, vying for attention. It seems that nearly all of them have a question to ask, while I silently ask myself where my little gun is. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I bent down to go after my glasses. Down I go again, squinting in between the feet, reaching out with my hands to grope around, but there is nothing. I can’t feel one bit of cold steel and I will never be able to see it in the darkness of floor and feet.

Now what? I could just abort the entire plan, walk out now and go home to drown my sorrows. Or I could hang on, wait until some of the people here have left. Maybe I’ll be able to find it, then. Maybe I’ll be able to catch Mr. Bradley Burton alone somewhere, perhaps as he is getting in to his car. I have almost decided on that course of action when a shout goes up right the way across the other side of the room.

A gun! He’s got a gun!” Someone must have picked it up.

Pandemonium! Everyone is trying to get to the exit together. Children at school would accomplish it in a more orderly fashion. But that’s it. It’s over! I have to let myself go with the flow and admit that this time I have failed. And all because of a broken pair of glasses!

 


© Copyright 2017 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

More Mystery and Crime Short Stories

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by hullabaloo22

Popular Tags