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The assassin began a silent countdown. Two hundred yards away, looking through the rifle’s scope, made the mark seem an arm’s length away.
Conrad Andersen pulled a hooker over his lap and playfully spanked her ass. The middle-aged tramp shook her head and kicked her legs in false protest. She slithered against his portly belly, gave him an exaggerated kiss, and then vanished from the scope.
The john wiped his mouth and traces of the hooker’s lipstick smeared across his face. Frowning, he got up moving out of view.
Lucky used the free time to ease the tension built up after a two-hour stakeout. First, a stretch and twist sideways popped a few vertebrae. Flexing both hands and rotating both ankles brought the circulation back. Then Lucky wondered if military snipers did similar exercises when they watched a target.
Doubt any of them ever had to watch an Olympic, Viagra-induced, sexcapade.
Lucky eased back into position as Andersen appeared in the scope again. He was dressed in his best Sunday suit, blue pinstriped with a white shirt. A decent looking older man, but knowing what he’d done made him vile enough to eliminate.
The hooker reappeared and kissed him before gathering her belongings off the ratty nightstand. When the lights dimmed, Lucky began taking slow deep breaths to maintain a steady heart rate.
Directing the scope three feet to the right and targeting ten inches below the top of the motel room’s doorframe was the perfect height to hit the target. The window of opportunity was five seconds. The wind factor, distance, and bullet drop was already part of the equation. As the door opened, Lucky let out one last breath and started counting.
One: the hooker emerged laughing.
Two: Andersen appeared and draped his arm around the woman’s shoulder.
Three: she glanced up at him. Lucky eased the crosshairs of the scope on his head.
Four: he leaned down and kissed her.
Five: the mark lifted his head to search the parking lot.
In the sixth second, the bullet penetrated his skull. The man’s eyes popped as it exited, spattering pink bits of his brain on the door behind him.
The hooker screamed.
Andersen’s body slumped against the doorframe. Other rooms instantly sprang to life with commotion. A dog barked in the distance.
The remnants of his face stared back into the scope. Kill confirmed.
Burn in hell, bastard.
The brass catcher on the rifle trapped the bullet casing. Lucky removed the silencer and quickly popped off the shoulder stock. Then she packed the Heckler and Koch MSG90 in the trombone shaped case in record time.
She rolled up the blanket, surveyed the roof for noticeable evidence then slipped down the side of the house. The quiet development she found behind the motel provided excellent cover. However, the occupants and their neighbors could be home any moment and she had to move.