Let's see I have not posted since December, so I'll hit anyone who reads with a chapter from my EPIC novel, ( I feel like Brian from the Family Guy and my sister plays the role of Stewie. Lol. "You mean the novel you've been working on for three years?") The Diary of Ezra Kaine.
Murder # XXII: I usually do not take Contracts.
Letting loose of the tube on the supplement bag I licked gently on the salt rag and applied it to the cracking mucus membrane on my lips.It burned for a few seconds and I worried about my forehead perspiring again, the heat soothed and released after about five minutes. My eye socket began to feel like a dry canvas on an early renaissance artist's palette begging for oil, it had been the second day in a third total sit and hit snipe.
Ask any experienced sniper about how passive the smell of your own urine can be, but the bowels take a beating if you aren't wearing a diaper. Rarely do I ever take client's on prospect, the motive for the client...-"Had been or was, Terry?"- -"Had been."- had been less personal than mine. The details would cause trouble on many ends of this novel, for the author and myself, so you may speculate amongst yourselves.
The target, a politician corrupted by the very laws and constitution he was meant to uphold with dignity and honor was slowly closing in to his end. His Achilles heel, was easily tacked by three day binges of scantily clad coitus in high priced, high placed, low profile hotels. This kill practically walked itself, I needed the experience anyhow, and by experience I mean type of kill, not in the question of could I do it.
It took me back to my grandfather's Ranger handbook and I was fascinated by how the sniper is said to create a scenario in his mind of how the target had spited him in the manner of say taking a family member's life or creating a repertoire with the target. At that time in my life I needed to feel what the sniper felt as he pulls the trigger after getting the green light.
Like I had said, the easily tacked venue was barely worth taking note, I hired one of the escorts to create a routine for him, the client's request had been paralysis. This told me it was his wife right from the start, unobjectionable taste would have led me to believe it was a rival of some sorts, but paralysis was a dead give away, leaving him alive was too passionate, and smelled of woman's scorn. The escort had been a brunette with an admirable jawline and lips robust enough to catch any man's attention, her jade eyes, was what brought him back to the same hotel, though.
-"How do you know?"- -"Know what?"- -"That her 'jade' eyes brought him back, it sounds like a retrieve from a god damned romance novel."--"I'm trying to personify the kill Terry. What the fuck!?"- -"Okay calm down."-
The target always arrived in a black sports utility vehicle, with two security details dressed informally, so as not to raise suspicion I would have guessed. When he arrived the valet retrieved his golf bag from the back and set it by the curb, just a ploy, the politician never played golf, just stayed in his room and waited for the escorts. When the brunette I hired ordered for Chinese from down the street that was the sign that gave me the five minute window of when he would be coming out.
Looking back, the theatrics probably were not necessary, but it was a hell of an idea...a signature of sorts for any future references to client based sniper hits. I knew the guards would see the muzzle flare, it's kind of hard to hide it when shooting 300 yards away, silencer or not a .50 caliber round leaves one hell of a scorch mark on the muzzle. So, I went to both adjacent buildings and set up remote triggered powder poppers from various heights on both walls. I figured if both guards saw enough distraction they would never look in the alley, plus I would not have to worry about corealis effect in a tunnel shot. Remote triggers for ignited gun powder, 45 dollars a pop, M82 fresh off the line with a bi-pod, 10,000 dollars, the look on a super confused guard...priceless.
-"What, not funny?"- -"Funny enough, but just a second ago you were all Queen Mary about personifying the kill."- -"Whatever."- -Whatever is right you dick, just get to the shot already."-
You might ask what's the point of not moving an inch for three days just for one shot, but unless you do it yourself, you can't understand what goes through someone's mind in that moment. Being so dedicated to that one task is the ultimate test of patience, it's exhilarating and some other emotion I cannot explain. It's like halo diving without a chute. I'd been couped up in this dumpster and various proclivities popped into my mind, what if's on the first day, but like the smell of my urine it was passive. The second day, was mainly what if he exited the hotel already, and what if I was sitting here waiting for a ghost. I came to grips by the third day, and used the emotion of vengeance to get me through it.
The valet's had changed shifts just before the younger gentleman in the delivery suit showed up with the Chinese food on a bicycle. I instantly locked on the target when the elevator doors opened in the lobby, the valet ran to the parking lot after noticing him come through. My heart did not skip a beat, in fact I felt relief that it was about to happen...borderline excited even. Obviously with a 12.7X99mm round 'with a purple tip' I did not plan on paralyzing him, the retical maintained the back of his fore head, and my breath was the loudest thing at that point, the traffic had become white noise.
His detail walked to his left and right, paying attention to those in the lobby, as the target shouldered the golf bag that only had two putters in it. The view from the alley was about twelve feet, and I just about panicked when he walked to the desk which was out of my field and came back holding a note and passing the golf bag to his security man on the right. He paused and frantically looked around just as the motion triggered glass doors slid open.
His wife had tipped him off, how did I not notice that? At the time, I was so intent on his appearance that I barely paid attention to any other persons entering or exiting the building. It could have been a simple call, but I pondered how that call would have been registered. "My husband's about to be assassinated after leaving your hotel, could you please make a note of it and give it to him as he exits?"
-"Priceless, Ez."- -"I know, but I wondered what was on that goddamn note, that tipped him off. If it was life threatening in context you would imagine the clerk would call the cops, right?"- -"Not if they knew exactly who the target was."- -"Good point, Terry."-
Anyway, in that moment of confusion on the target's face as he paused, it was a now situation, not so much as never, nobody has ever gotten away from me, save the Zodiac. I've read sit and hit reports and most of them never really explain how much time can snap the lack of will to do something, time did not slow down, and I had to make a move. I decided a center mass shot, though I wanted a head shot, but with an incindeary tip the shrapnel from the round would no doubt be possibly fatal to the security he had with him. The round had been in the firing position since the middle of day one, I unlocked the firing switch and held my breath, as he started to run for the elevators.
The shot let go as I pulled the trigger and traveled past the three cardboard dwelling homeless men, who had previously almost found me in the dumpster. The powder poppers bursted in unison creating a wall of decibel echoes against the buildings, the bullet reached it's target and must have hit the spine. His torso flew in the air like a bag of busted sand and was out of view as it reached the frosted bottom section of the paned window. My theory was half right, the guard to the target's left looked above and was pinpointing all the decoy muzzle flares that I had setup and both were covered in splattered blood.
The guard on the right, was truly instinctive, he must have known that a solid trajectory almost always meant a lateral trajectory and we did not lock eyes of course, but he began running towards the alley leaving his friend behind to wonder what the fuck had just happened. I did not panic, most of the time, I panic like everyone else but with this much adrenaline running through your body you practically feel invincible. I sat up, and rotated my neck, stretched my arms and moved some garbage aside. Standing was the hard part as I lifted the lid.
I honestly wanted some close quarter combat, but decided against it as the security guard came running up to the cardboard dwellers and shoved their lean to houses aside in search of a rifle. He was a block away, I put on my beard and dusty rain coat, pocketed my surgical gloves and covered up the rifle, while grabbing the tube from the nutrient bag. Hopping out of the dumpster I noticed one of the homeless men pointing my way at the security guard and that's when he knew. Casualties of unforeseen events, he had not yet seen my face so it was time to do a little running.
I walked away slowly at first, looking back as he stopped the traffic by waving his drawn pistol, a glock .45 by what little I could make out. I reached the opposite end of the alley and turned left then began sprinting towards a makeshift news stand and waited, my hands were pale and clammy from wearing the gloves for almost 62 hours straight. The security detail stopped at the end of the alley after about a minute, he had obviously found my little stash of sit and hit material in the dumpster. I quickly snatched off the beard, as my pursuer fatefully decide to turn left, and rubbed my face down with my plaid flannel and tossed that as well too in a trash bin obscured by his view from the newsstand.
My v-neck t-shirt was a bit sweat stained, but I did not think that it would raise any suspicion towards him, I stepped into view and was clearly wrong...
To any publishers or agents out there who stumble upon this, drop me a line if you are interested. (infernalracket66@yahoo.com)
in less coherence and involving Einsteins general relativity. (I'm no good at math, but awesome at language.) The Compressed equation above is just a default. If you cannot figure out the quantum mechanics yourself, just imagine a beam of light being separated by a thin veil of static electricity. (The light would have to originate from the sun and no other source.) 
