Looking out across the countryside, I could see for miles. I stood outside my car, a jet black BMW, and studied the map I had laid out on the hood. The road went straight on in either direction. There were no other people, no cars, no cows, no anything. Just grass, and a heavy, penetrating heat. Maybe a black car wasn't such a good idea.
I probably should have dressed a bit cooler too. For now I was stuck in an all black suit, complete with shiny oxfords, black leather gloves and a pair of dark glasses. I looked like a fed or something, but first impressions are always important. I thought I was in the right place. The map seemed to confirm it, but I still couldn't be sure. Then I heard it, the sound of a struggling tractor trailer, loaded down with cargo that was much too heavy for it. I saw it appear on the horizon, a huge Peterbuilt truck. I just had to wait for it to get to me.
After five minutes or so it hissed to a stop, the airbrakes struggling to slow down the massive trailer. The driver got out and approached me slowly. He looked just as I remembered him. Short goatee, close cropped hair, black suit like mine. He didn't say anything, just gave me a quick once over, and went to open the back of the truck. I pulled out my Glock, and put a bullet through his skull. No noise from him, just an echoing gunshot followed bt an almost painful silence.
I had been doing people "favors" for about two years now. It was fast and easy, and it paid surprisingly well. The first time was a bit of a shock; he joked around with me for a while, but I still had to do it. I cried for about twenty minutes. Now, I was used to it. No tears. No remorse. Just me and a job well done.
The job I was currently working on was a high profile one. The man with his bullet in his skull was an arms dealer from Colombia. The Department of Defense hired me to take him out at any cost. Right now it was about 15 million, but the job was only halfway done. I got back into my car and put on some classical music, Beethoven I think; I put the BMW into gear, and drove off towards my next objective.
The dossier said he was in his 50s, a jewlery store owner who used to finance the arms dealer. I had about 200 miles to go before I fould get to his town. My "handler" arranged for me to have a private meeting with him on June 20th, in four days. I would be posing as the rich CEO of a leading weapon production company. At least I wouldn't have to change my clothes.
The morning of June 20th, I pulled into the town where the jewler lived. I had time to get some sleep. My cellphone rang just as I closed my eyes.
It was my handler. The meeting was a set up. The jewler was going to kill me, so I had to get to him first. I popped a caffine tablet, and got out of the car. There was so much to do...
In about two hours time, I had set up all of the necessary items. Cameras to monitor the shop, some weapons stashed in strategic places, some fast adjustments made to my pistol, and something very special indeed placed in my car.
I walked inside, suddenly made aware of the shoulder holster I was wearing. I hope they didn't plan on patting me down. Then things would get really interesting.
The armed guards waved me through, no checking me over. So far, things were going exctly as I had hoped. I entered the back office and saw him. He nodded slowly and passed me a note. It asked me if I would want to do business with him in the future. I wrote back, saying I wouldn't be able to. He grew visibly agitated for a moment, then calmed down. He spoke. "The arms dealer is dead, I presume." I gave him a quick nod. He closed his eyes and began to lean back in his chair. I jumped up and pulled out my pistol. Before I could point it at him, I heard the audible click and metallic twang of a round being loaded into the chamber of a gun immediately to the right of me. I dropped my own pistol, and sat down. This was a problem. I fely the sharp blow of a handgrip smashing into the back of my head. Everything went black.
I came to a few hours later. The back of my head throbbed painfully. I was tied into a chair and the jewler sat across from me staring with an intense hatred. I began to laugh. He asked "Who sent you?" I laughed in his face. He laughed back. While he threatened to go to my car and check for papers, I loosened the rope that reatrained me. He finished talking, having run out of ways to insult me. He callrf his guards in and told them he wanted to check my car. He walked out and they followed without a word. I heard the sound of my car door opening, followed by the sound of twenty pounds of Semtex blowing it sky high. The package had worked. I threw the ropes off comletely, and grabbed my Glock from the top drawer of his desk. I pored myself a drink from his conveniently located liquor cabinet, and downed it smoothly. I eventually walked out, and called a cab. My car was blown up, and walking didn't sound very appealing. I reached for my cellphone and realised that it was in my car before the plastic explosives went off. I cursed. Things tend to go wrong now and then. At least the money would buy me a new car.
