The cold shouldn’t be a problem. After all, bullets don’t mind the cold much. I held my breath. I closed my right eye. I led the target by almost a meter. The first shot was the only one that would matter. I always brought a full magazine, but I only ever used one round.
People say the recoil from a rifle like mine is staggering, but when I fired the shot and knew that I hit the target, I didn’t feel anything. I never felt anything. As soon as I saw the figure slumped out of the car window from which he was leaning, the driver spattered with blood and staring in shock at her dead comrade, I started to pack up my things. I exhaled in satisfaction, releasing a plume of water vapor into the frozen air.
I folded the custom stock of my TAC-50. I checked the safety and removed the magazine – safety first, mother always said. Next I unscrewed the suppressor from the special short barrel. I made the suppressor myself; I like to make things like that in my spare time. It’s a hobby of mine. The suppressor was about half the length of the barrel. Half of the suppressor was actually an extension of the barrel, making each shot more accurate.
The cold from the open window was making my skin numb and each breath I took burned my lungs. Nobody heard the shot, I was sure of it, but I still couldn’t be too careful. I needed to focus on the task at hand: getting out of the empty apartment. After I had stuffed all my tools in the gray rucksack, I did a quick search of the room to make sure I had not overlooked anything. I hadn’t. Even the spent cartridge was accounted for; it sat in my pocket, the only piece of warmth in this cold place. I hastily made passage out onto the landing of the concrete staircase outside. Without hesitating, I hopped over the low wall and dropped myself down into the alley below. I stifled a yelp. The chill in the air was affecting the arthritis in my knees. I shoved the rucksack into the small window that leads to the last stall of the underground bathroom belonging to the motel above. I then lowered myself through the window, landing softly on the bathroom floor. I picked up the blue backpack I had planted there a few hours ago, and stuffed my rucksack inside. Upon exiting the stall, I removed the fake out of order sign and deposited it in the garbage on my way out. Up the stairs and out into the cold night air, not a soul in sight; I was safe.
I kept thinking about the driver – my neighbor – she didn’t care about what she put me through. The one I killed was not the one I punished. But it wouldn’t last long. She would get another dog anyway. The new dog would probably be even more annoying than the first. But I got it out of my system. For old times sake I made one last kill: one last shot just for fun.
