Assassin knew the risks involved in this mission were great, perhaps even suicidal, but he didn’t care. With quiet trepidation he took one last mental check, stepped from his hiding place and disappeared into the dark of the moonless night.
A strong sense of danger overpowered his resolve as he crept around the side of the house. It was mental conditioning alone that kept him moving forward.
Upon reaching the kill zone he stopped, listened for movement and took a quick look around before disappearing between a large tangle of bushes growing beneath the kitchen window.
Adrenaline pumped wildly through Assassin’s veins as he spotted the shirtless target standing before a sink washing dishes. A radio blared from the living room.
Assassin, knowing this was going to be an easy hit, prepared for immediate action. Silently he laid his rifle across the sill and took aim. One shot, center mass between the shoulder blades. One kill. Breath in . . . slowly . . . hold . . . relax . . . squeeze the trigger . . . BANG! . . .
A frightened, animal like yelp ripped through the quiet evening followed by a crescendo of violent cursing as the target dropped the dish he was drying and tried to reach the pain emanating from the center of his back.
Assassin prepared to escape and evade, but he now realized he had fallen into the trap every rookie fears and many live to regret. He had not given enough thought to the small detail of getting away. The opportunity to kill had overpowered his reasoning so completely he had thrown all caution to the wind and was about to pay a high price for his foolishness.
The stricken enemy now recovered, spun around and faced his startled son staring back from the other side of the window, “JIMMY!” he shouted. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU . . . . !“
Although Assassin had seen his enemy angry many times before, he had never seen him like this. Filled with the dread of impending doom he dropped his rifle in the bushes and ran head on into the night. After rounding the corner of the house and diving into his previous hideout he sat quietly with his back to the wall.
Assassin quietly peered back around the corner, just in time to watch his father burst through the screen door, dash across the stoop, and drop to the yard where he found the BB gun lying beneath the bush. The BB gun that he, himself, had just days before purchased as a gift for his son.
Assassin watched in horror as his dad swiftly picked up his new rifle and swung it against a tree hard enough to bend it in half and ruin any hopes he would ever have of using it again. He was stunned. Tears streamed down his cheeks. A sob broke free from his heaving chest as he watched the beloved rifle break into two pieces and be thrown to the ground by the enraged enemy.
A moment of silence ensued . . . then the dreadful roar of his dad’s voice bellowed full throttle into the night, “JIMMY! YOU GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE! . . . NOW!!”
Knowing full well his hope of escape was all but nil, little Jimmy gave himself up to fate and meekly surrendered. Though certain he would be given over to the water board, he realized all was not lost. Head down in faked shame, he shuffled slowly back to the scene of his crime. A small smile went unnoticed as it broke the thin line of his quivering lips.