The assassin knew the risks involved in this mission were great, perhaps even suicidal, but he didn’t care. With quiet trepidation he took one last mental check, stepped from his hiding place and disappeared into the dark of the moonless night. A strong sense of danger nearly overpowered his resolve as he crept around the side of the house, but hard won mental conditioning kept him moving forward.
Upon reaching the designated kill zone he stopped, listened for movement, took a quick look around and disappeared between a large tangle of bushes growing beneath the kitchen window that lacked screening and was wide open.
Adrenaline pumped wildly through the assassin’s veins as he spotted the shirtless target standing before a sink washing dishes. A radio blared from the living room. With music playing and the man’s back to the window, the assassin, knowing this was going to be an easy hit, prepared for immediate action.
Silently he laid his rifle across the sill and took aim. One shot, center mass between the shoulder blades, one kill. Breath in . . . slowly . . . hold . . . relax . . . squeeze the trigger . . . BANG! . . .
A frightened, animal like, yelp rips through the quiet evening . . . followed by a crescendo of violent cursing as the target drops the dish he was drying and tries to reach the pain emanating from the center of his back.
The assassin prepares to escape and evade, but now realizes he has fallen into the trap every rookie fears and many live to regret . . . not giving enough thought to the small detail of getting away. He had gone even one step further by neglecting to consider his escape at all. The opportunity to kill had overpowered his reasoning so completely he had thrown all caution to the wind, and was about to pay a high cost for his foolishness.
The stricken enemy had not died, nor had he even fallen down, instead the wounded man spun around and faced his startled son now fear frozen on the other side of the window. “JIMMY!” he shouted. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU . . . . !“
Although the assassin had seen his enemy angry many times before he had never seen him like this. Filled with the dread of impending doom he dropped his rifle in the bushes and ran head on into the night. Rounding the corner of the house, he dove into the bushes surrounding his previous hideout hoping the enemy would think he had continued running.
Hearing no one chasing him, the killer quietly peered back around the corner in time to watch his father burst through the screen door, dash across the stoop and drop to the yard where he found the BB gun lying beneath the bush. The BB gun that he, himself, had just days before purchased as a gift for his son.
The assassin watched in horror as the target swiftly picked up his new rifle and swung it against a tree hard enough to bend it in half and ruin any hopes he would ever have of using it again. He was stunned. Tears streamed down his cheeks. A sob broke free from his heaving chest as he watched the beloved rifle break into two pieces and be thrown to the ground by the enraged enemy.
A moment of silence ensued. . . then the dreadful roar of the enemy’s voice bellowing full throttle into the night. “JIMMY! YOU GET BACK HERE! NOW!!”
Knowing full well his hope of escape is nil, the assassin gives himself up to fate and meekly surrenders. Though certain he will be given over to the torturer and his water board, he realizes all is not lost. Head down in faked shame, he shuffles slowly back to the scene of his crime. No one notices the small smile breaking the straight line of his lips.