The man quietly walked into the bar, approached the bar section and almost as if in a trance pulled out a gun and shot the man eating with the wife. He shot the man five times. The soft pop-pop sound was dwarfed by the heavy rock sound coming from the gigantic speakers. The man had a surprised look on his face but the wife was frozen in shock as was everyone who witnessed the scene. The rest of the late diners continued eating and talking, oblivious to the incident that just unravelled.
Looking at the scene, a bystander would have thought that the man's wife was also shot judging by the amount of blood on her white blouse.
She sat still for some seconds which looked like entirety. Then out of her lungs came the most piercing scream ever. It rose above the beats coming from the gigantic speakers but the sound of her scream sounded louder to people outside than the diners and drinkers inside.
The DJ was forced to momentarily remove his earphone and look around. When he saw the screaming woman and the blood he turned off the music. The woman was still screaming. People oblivious to what just happened started scrambling through the exit. In the melee, the assassin quietly put back the long silenced 9mm Beretta PX4 Storm Compact into the specially designed suit gun harness and walked unhurriedly out of the cafe.
As he reached the car parked about some 100m away, his phone rang. He picked it and said,
"Done. Just the way you ordered. Eyewitnesses, wife and everyone saw it happen."
He listened to the voice on the other line.
"Yes, I have sent the message, no one would dare look into your affairs. I need another passport and 50 large."
He listened some more to the voice at the other end of the line.
"Yes, boss. I guarantee you, no one would poke their snout where it don't belong. If anyone does, just say the word and I will pop them for you free of charge," the gunman said.
He listened again.
"As you wish boss. I did not take pictures. But you would soon be watching it on TV," said the gunman and hung up.
As soon as he hung up the call, he looked ahead and saw the flashing lights. The police have arrived. But as usual, late for the twenty-seventh time. This is getting old, he thought.
He bent and lowered himself on the car seat and banged the door shut. He was about to turn the ignition when he noticed the ignition wire seemed to have been tampered with. He paused. His thin lips parted revealing his tobacco-stained teeth in a mirthless smile. The smile made him look like a hungry hyena starring at two little rabbits caught by some twine in the bush. He quietly opened the car door leaving the ignition key in the ignition.
He hummed his favourite song from childhood, Anything You Can Do, I Can Do it Better. I can do everything better than you. As usual, he couldn't resist the part that followed so he said aloud, "No you can't. Yes, I can."
Then he extracted his wallet from his hip pocket with an exaggerated care and brought out one crumbled $50 note. He walked towards a dark alley where he spotted the person he was looking for - a youth with unruly hair, injecting some liquid into his left arm.
"Hey mate, care to make some money?" He asked the man with needle-riddled spots on his arm.
The man looked suspiciously at him and said nothing. His attitude suddenly changed when the gunman brought out the folded $50 and waved it in his face. The reaction was immediate but nothing on earth would prevent him from shooting up whatever was in that syringe.
"What would you like? You need company?" The drug addict asked with a leering grin.
"Oh, not that, I'm a man of the collar, I want.."
The drug addict cut him off:
"Oh, nothing to be ashamed of, even the clergies come here every once in a while you know... to look around." He winked drunkenly at him.
"Just something simple, I have a problem with my legs. I can't seem to walk the 100m where I parked my car. Can you help me bring it around here? I'd pay $50 for your troubles." he begged, his face, a mask of discomfort, not that the meth head needed it.
"Are you sure it is your car?" Suddenly the man appeared to not be as foolish as he thought.
"Of course it's my car, see the driving licence here with me. You can take it, compare it with the plate number when you get there."
This explanation seemed to convince the man.
"I am no fool, you'd have to pay me half now and the other half when I get back."
"Fair enough, here is $25." He counted out $25 and gave him.
He stretched out the needle riddled hand and collected it.
As he walked towards the car, the gunman moved a little more under the shadows and watched him intently. It took him about 5 minutes for the addict to get to where it was parked. He entered the car and started it.
Nothing happened. Well, he thought, I just wasted $50. His phone was ringing. He picked it. The number was hidden.
"Please! Please!! Do not enter the car. Do not enter the car! Dylan never planned to pay you. Instead, he rigged the car with explosives that would kill you." The mystery caller dropped the call. Who the heck was that? He wondered.
The car was now about thirty feet now and he could make out the toothless grin of the drug addict. Then it exploded in every direction and there was nothing but the frame of the car.
The blast wave threw him some good twenty feet away. It hurt him badly. He touched his lips and it was bleeding. He managed to stand up and surveyed the tattered crap that was his vehicle.
Dylan. He thought. The man who he had just killed for, wanted him dead. He patted his suit and his 9mm is there. His eyes bloodshot he checked the remaining bullets left in his gun. Ten was still there. It was not enough, he picked some extra bullets from his back pocket and reloaded. His thoughts filled with vicious rage for Dylan. He limped towards the car park, his mind has only one image; a bloodied Dylan lying dead in a hail of his bullets.
"Twenty-eight," he snarled as he limped on.
Authored by: @greenrun
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