Strike

Every Monday during A-to-Z Blogging Challenge month, I’m posting a letter-themed 500 word-or-fewer piece of flash fiction. This week’s is called…

STRIKE

The strike will be a complete surprise. The victim will never see it coming.

I’ve been living by those words for the last 48 hours. Walking through town with my coat collar pulled up around my neck and my bag across my shoulder, I’m hyper-alert. Old lady with a large shopping bag; goth hanging on a street corner, hands in pockets. I breathe heavily, walk quickly–but not too quickly.

A dark alley. I need a moment’s concealment to think. I thought I knew this city, but I’m blanking out on the best places for cover. I hear a rattle and my heart jumps. I turn. A cat walking on some old pipes. Relief. This is a new experience for me, and I need to stay cool. I must be aware of my surroundings, of everyone around me, but I can’t be jumping at every noise. They could be here; and they’ll most likely be hiding in shadows too.

I start walking the length of the alley. Aside from the pipes and some rain-soaked boxes, the place is deserted. The noise of traffic echoes from either side. I’m looking ahead, scoping out windows and ledges until I reach the opposite side. That’s when I see the man in the black leather jacket smoking a cigarette. He’s on the other side of the street, and as soon as I come out from the alley, he turns and walks the same way. I’ve been made. I have to move quickly.

The man’s good. He manages to look inconspicuous, though I know he’s following me. I pick up my pace a little; he does the same. I maneuver myself between people, but he’s still close on my tail. From the corner of my eye I see a taxi approach; I hail it. The driver pulls over and I get inside. The cab smells of stale orange. The driver just nods when I direct him. I watch his eyes in the rear view mirror as he pulls away. He glances back at me.

The strike will be a complete surprise.

I watch the wing mirror, but I can’t tell if black-jacket man is following. The ride only takes ten minutes, so I’ll know soon enough if he’s tailing. He must have seen me, but perhaps he couldn’t get a cab. I try to look relaxed, even try some small talk with the broody cab driver. He just grunts and nods.

We stop at the park. I pay the fare; the cabbie grunts and drives away. There aren’t many people around, which is good. I soon find the restrooms. A few minutes later, I walk out of the men’s in a park keeper’s uniform.

Moments later, black-jacket man walks past me. There’s no-one else around.

The victim will never see it coming.

I pull my revolver, attach the silencer, and pop a bullet in his head.

From the empty men’s room I make the call.

“Target eliminated.”