Bad Timing

So many simple things in life that plague us, but the one thing we need most we have so little of, not that we use what we have well. Timing is important in my work, after all, if I have poor timing, the target escapes. No confirmed kill, no payment and soon I would be running away from hostile agents, security guards or even the good ol’ police.

However, that was with my work. Some people had more leeway, but not amazing amounts of it. Everyone had a quota to fill, a deadline to meet. There were no easy breaks for anyone. However, my possibility of bad timing can stretch further. I have a family who I love and cherish, so of course, they are my responsibility.

On a cold morning, I drove my children to school. Two energetic, happy kids who giggled and bounced in the backseat. There was so much innocence in their smiles, no falsehoods like those that I wore when infiltrating a target’s base of operations. Stopping the car in the school parking lot, I wished them a happy day and drove away, subtly watching them disappear around a corner in my rear-view mirror.

With that daily chore finished, I drove to work. In this case, it was a small business owner with a shady past. The clients wanted him terminated today, which is a narrow window to work with for most hitmen, but not me. I had a chance this day to get a clean shot on him and drive into a mess of traffic before anyone was the wiser. However, that is easier said than done.

I took the car to a small, quiet area, parking it in an alley off the highway. The sunlight grew brighter and ever so warmer. Time passed in that car slowly, giving me the opportunity to change number plates. Eventually it was nearing lunch and my opening was approaching. I pulled a small briefcase from the underside of the backseat, stretching and contorting to pull it into the passenger seat beside me.

Once that was done, I started the car and backed into the street. The people walking the pavement parted for me and waited as I did for an opening. Signalling and turning the wheel, I soon joined the droves of cars down the street into an even busier one. It wasn’t far from where I was, which made this so much easier.

I took a turn just short of the targets establishment, waving for a rider to go ahead and I would follow. The car hummed and pulled at my collar with a hooked finger. It may be cold in the morning, but the humidity is no joke in even the most basic heat. However, the air was still, which made things easier for me, as you can imagine.

Once I was in position, a small hill overlooking the city, I opened the briefcase. Inside was a curious instrument I designed myself. It pays to have smarts in this business and this little piece was brilliant for a man in my line of work. Separate pieces all fitting together to form a special weapon that fired only one shot, silently.

Once the shot was fired, the pieces of brass and metal broke, making them effectively useless. More than that, it made them insignificant in an investigator's eyes. I tossed the remnants of an object every which way when done and thus, my tracks were covered. Once the device was built, I lowered the window and centred a small scope on the front seat of a car in the mix of buildings.

It was the only opening for a long-range shot like this. The option would be to get in close, but that in itself was a risk. I didn’t know what kind of security the target had and it was too late to find out. However, I knew that he left his business to eat lunch in his car, believing it to be safer. After that, I would not get another shot at him, so it was all about the perfect timing now.

On que, the target appeared, a bobbing head that lowered as he unlocked his car. I trained my breathing as he climbed into the vehicle, leaving the door open for the hot air to flow out. His lunch, a subway sandwich, was raised to his lips. For a small touch of mercy, I let him enjoy the first bite. The second time he raised his sandwich I fired the shot.

The weapon cracked and crumbled in my hand as the miniature explosion went off. However, not before I saw through the small scope a splash of red as his head shot back. It was a confirmed kill, but now came the important bit. The get-away.

I wasn’t the greatest driver when it came to speed and skill, but I didn’t need that at this distance. I simply started the car and drove away. I soon joined busy traffic once more and nobody was the wiser. A few minutes later, I stopped in another quiet alley and changed the plates back. The job was finished, so I scattered the pieces of the make-shift gun everywhere before climbing into the car.

With the feeling of a huge number resting in my bank account to be increased, I drove home with a smile. As coincidence would have it, I received a call from my husband on the way back.

“Hey, honey, how are you doing?” he asked as I turned down our street.

“I’m feeling great, thanks,” I replied, but I sensed a tone in his voice. “What’s up? Did something happen?”

“Well, there is something you did wrong, actually.”

Suddenly, for the first time in this heat, I began to perspire.

“What do you mean? I did everything right,” I replied.

“That’s not what I’ve been told by the-”

“Don’t listen to them, they know nothing. I’ve done my job. I’m on the way back now.”

“Honey, our kids called on a payphone, you didn’t pick them up from school.”

“Oh.”

“You should remember they had a birthday party to go to uptown and there-”

“Wasn’t much time to get there. I’m sorry.”

“You can tell them sorry when you go drop them off in the middle of the party. Sheesh, hun, your timing leaves a lot to be desired.”

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