Glitch

1

My man, wearing a suit, appears outside the white marble building. Breathe in. It's twenty four paces from the front door to the black car. Breathe out. That means I have roughly thirty three seconds to end his life.

Another deep breath in, let it halfway out, then line up your target. The words of many past instructors fill my head. My rifle crosshairs form a perfect plus sign over my victim's head.

"Kyree!" I jump at the sound of Kaleb's voice crackling over the walkie talkie on my belt, losing focus on my shot. "What are you doing? Lachlan's already out of the Courthouse and heading to his car! Finish the job!" I grit my teeth, and bring my attention back to my target, but he's safely within an armored limo that I know contains five trained bodyguards. Shit. I suppress a frustrated groan and pick up my end.

"I fucking had him, Kaleb! I had it under control! For the last time, quit fucking talking to me on the job!" I hiss, dropping the walkie talkie at my feet without waiting for my friend's response. From my perch atop Seattle's Hotel Max, I can clearly see Mike Lachlan's car making its way down Stewart Street. If I move fast, I can intercept them before they get much further. Taking care of the the world renowned lawyer could've been an easy job if it hadn't been for stupid Kaleb. I hurriedly toss my high powered rifle into the duffel bag next to me, trading it for two .44 Magnum handguns, which I tuck into my side.

I step onto the fire escape and peer down at the street, looking for a ride. A gunmetal Chevy Camaro catches my eye. I swing up and over the fire escape railing and steady myself before dropping down to the next level. In less than a minute, my black combat boots hit the pavement. I jog over to the camaro and smash the window on the driver's side to unlock it. After a few seconds sorting through bundles of wires, I manage to hotwire the car and pull away from the curb.

"Okay, sorry I messed this up, but-" Kaleb starts. I cut his apology off uncaringly.

"Where am I headed?"

"Uh. . . head down Howell Street, parallel to Steward, then cut our guy off at Minor Ave," he instructs me. I don't need to be told twice. I weave through traffic down Howell Street well over the speed limit. I feel a slight wave of anxiety rising in me as I rush pasts other cars, but push it back down. I have to remember to push those feelings aside. Killers don't get to have feelings. As I round the corner onto Minor Avenue, Lachlan's car comes back into view. Thank god. A few seconds later, and I'm pulled over less than fifty feet away from where his black limo is stopped at a red light. I practically launch myself out of the car, abandoning it on the side of the street, and sprint to catch up with my target. Just when I reach the armored car, the light turns green. Quick as lightning, I pull a knife from my belt and slash a good sized hole in one of the back tires. That should do the trick. I give it thirty seconds before the driver notices something's wrong. I retreat to the sidewalk as the limo screeches forward, following on foot at a casual jog.

About thirty seconds later, I watch my target turn off Stewart Street and onto one of the abandoned back roads. Bad choice, Lachlan. I pick up the pace of my jog, not about to allow something else go wrong today. I stay a ways back, and see a small man, Lachlan's driver, get out of the car and begin to examine the back wheel. Behind him stands a huge and muscular man whose face closely resembles that of a bull. Definitely a bodyguard. I draw my .44 Magnum and level it at his skull. The sound of my round leaving the chamber rings out like a signal for the wonderful chaos that I know is going to follow. The bodyguard drops like a sack of potatoes. I sprint towards the van, and before the driver can move, I slam his head against the side of the car. He's not coming back from that. The other three bodyguards seem like they're moving in slow motion as they open their car doors. I pistol whip the closest one in the face, then send my foot rocketing towards his chest. He flies back a couple feet, dazed. I spin around to blow the other two's brains out, but they moved faster than I anticipated, and I gasp as one of their fists connects with my stomach. Grimacing, I quickly pull my knife and tomahawk style throw it at him. It rotates through the air before burying itself in his chest. The last guy is smart, drawing a hand gun instead of coming any closer.

"Put your hands up!" He shouts at me. I decide to flip him the bird instead. He doesn't seem to find it as humorous as I do. As his finger pulls back on the gun's trigger, I dive out of the way of the deadly bullet. As I fall, I empty four rounds into my attacker. Quite a showy finish. Bodyguards taken care of, I don't waste any time getting to Lachlan. He's huddled in the back seat of the limo, whimpering softly.

"P- p- please don't kill me," he begs. Maybe a normal person would've felt some sort of empathy, watching a grown man beg a teenager for his life. But not me.

"Sayonara," I say with a smile, aiming my gun at his temple. Just as I'm about to pull the trigger, I hear a shuffling sound behind me. I whip around, and am greeted with a bullet to the head.