The man sitting next to me doesn't seem to like me much. I think he suspects something. I reassure myself and keep calm. Chances are he hasn't seen anything; maybe he's just naturally nervous. Problem is, this guy's a goddamn giant. He must be 6'9 at least. I take a deep breath and get up off of the park bench. The giant doesn't move. I breathe a sigh of relief and began to walk behind him. At the moment, this is the perfect hit. The back of this guy's head is the size of a freakin' bus, it's impossible to miss a vital spot.
It's about midnight and the streets are empty. No need for a silencer. I squeeze the trigger nice and easy. A moment of kickback, a loud sound, and a flash. One less scumbag on the street. This was another Department of Defense contract. A Russian extremist group in the D.C area had been getting frighteningly active in the last week. I had to kill them all. All three of the higher-ups, the pawns would disband without a good leader.
I walk over to my car, a brand new Lamborghini. Sleek, black paintjob. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. A bit impractical, especially for a hitman, but I like to travel in style. My friends always did say I had good taste.
The Russian lay dead on the concrete. I had to dispose of this guy, so I reach into my car and pull out a small canister that says "WP" on it. "Willie Pete" to soldiers, white phosphorous to a civilian. He would be burned clean in a matter of seconds, only bone and metal left behind. I walk over to the body, flip the lever and arm the grenade. I place it on his lap, jump in the car, and drive like hell. I didn't hear it, but I knew what it would sound like. A softer sound, brighter light, and the hiss and crackle of the flame.
One down, two to go.
The next target was some woman who lived a few blocks away. She had been giving high-grade intel to the extremists. Now, she wouldn’t be doing that anymore. I pulled up outside of the apartment complex and got out, taking a carefully packed duffel bag with me. I crossed the street and entered the building opposite hers. She lived in a balcony apartment and every night at 1:00 am, she would go outside and have a drink on the balcony. This would be easy.
I get past the hotel clerk and head into the nearest stairway that would reach the roof. After a quick run up the stairs I emerge into the cool night air. There was no light on the roof. Perfect. I kneel and rummage around in the bag, pulling out some unrecognizable tubes and handles. A few minutes of fiddling around, and I now held a perfectly deadly rifle complete with silencer. I go prone and crawl up to the edge of the roof. I spot her, top floor, about ten feet down from my roof level. In her 20s, pretty too. It’s a shame, but it had to be done. I take a deep breath, and exhale slowly. Once all of the air is out of my lungs, I pull the trigger. This time, there is no flash, no sound, just a round hole left in her head. No cleanup needed this time. People wouldn’t find her until morning.
Two down.
The final hit was the big-man, leader of the extremist group. He would be difficult. He was well trained, fast, and under serious protection. This would require something a but more tactful than a trigger pull. I get in my car, and drive for about an hour. A suburban neighborhood at 2:00 am is very eerie. Everything looks identical. Creepy. At the end of the block, I see the target’s house. It’s pretty big, a lot of land around it. Just what I need. I get out of the Lamborghini and walk around to the passenger side. I reach in and take out a box of Semtex. Great stuff, Semtex. Powerful, and very volatile if mistreated. Fun for the whole family, eh?
I stick a series of primer charges in various cubes of the plastic explosive. This would be tactful. Loud, but tactful. Working my way around the perimeter of the house, I place the charges around the foundation. The final and largest charge, I place in the crawlspace beneath the front porch. I begin to walk away and reach for the detonator when I hear a shout. The guards spotted me. The finger is faster than I first thought. I thumb the switch, and the deafening sound of an explosion fills the air. I’m thrown forward by the blast. The target is dead, and I’m left with sore ribs and ringing ears. Not a bad trade off, I think.
