Flamingo Jaguar

Part 3: Frustration is as Frustration Does

Previous Chapter: Construction Update

When I did the research for this job, the work seemed perfectly straightforward. The target was not particularly well protected, wasn’t highly visible (like a politician) and was regularly out and about in public. I assigned it a low risk. The client was perfectly happy with long-range, so it was a minimum charge job. I expected it to be over in a couple of days. That the client offered substantially more than I charged should’ve been a red flag, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty.

The first time I decided to take out the target was in the morning, when he came out to the balcony of his apartment to have coffee. The skies were clear, the temperature mild, relatively low humidity and very little breeze. Perfect conditions for shooting. I set up with a clear view of the balcony in a nice stable position, relatively close, about three-hundred meters. The target showed up on time and sat down exactly where I expected him to be. I carefully aligned my sights, controlled my breathing and slowly squeezed the trigger. The goal in sniping, or really any sort of shooting, is to not anticipate the gun going off; you should be a bit surprised when it fires. Strange, I know. You fire the same weapon thousands of times, you expect to know exactly when it’s going to fire. However, if you anticipate, you tense up. Part of the training is to relax your mind to the point where you aren’t waiting for the shot. Anyway, as I squeezed and had that mild surprise when the gun goes off, I noticed, just as the scope rose from the recoil, that the target was bending over. I know exactly how long it takes for the round to reach the target and it hadn’t arrived yet. There was no way he could have heard anything. First, he was too far away to have heard the sound at that point. Second, I was using my usual suppressing mechanism and it’s quite good at its job. As my scope dropped from the recoil and back into alignment, I saw a sight which would no doubt be comical if this were a movie: the target looking behind him at the new hole in the wall. Unbelievably, he shrugged, turned back to his coffee and picked up a newspaper.

I confess that this hasn’t happened to me, ever. I’ve missed a couple of times; I don’t know any sniper shooting at extreme range who hasn’t, but I’m far from extreme range. This is a rifle I’m very familiar with and practice with regularly. I saw the hole in the wall exactly lined up with the location of the target’s head before he bent over, so it wasn’t like I pulled the shot. The target now had a newspaper in front of his face. I couldn’t be positive of my shot. I generally don’t like to take one unless I am. I decided to wait out his breakfast. It also allowed my rifle to cool down, which would make the next shot more accurate.

The target largely sat in place. Shifting around a bit, picking up the coffee and putting it back down, occasionally changing pages (but not giving me enough setup time to guarantee the shot). The usual breakfast routine I’m sure everyone has seen. Finally, the coffee and paper were done and the target put them down. He stood up and started to stretch. I figured this would be another ideal opportunity. Once again, I took careful aim.

And once again, immediately after I squeezed the trigger, he picked that exact moment to lean forward in some sort of toe touching effort. The first sort of exercise I’d seen him do. This time he didn’t seem to notice the new hole in the wall behind him. He continued doing his bends; then switched to squats. After a while he switched to sit-ups and then push-ups. There was a comical instance when he started to go inside the house and noticed the second hole in the wall. Had I the presence of mind I might’ve got him then, but I was bemused. Not only had I just missed an easy shot for the first time since training, I missed a second easy shot not minutes later. I just lay there, in the prone position, going over the two shots in my mind. Over and over. The target had finished his morning preparations and left for work before I snapped out of my reverie and got up. I knew the target’s routine; he’d be back this evening.

During my earlier scouting, I’d noted closer places from which I could take a shot, but had chosen the initial one as it had the best balance of features. For me, three-hundred meters is (normally) an easy shot. I shifted to a closer location. It had a less ideal balance of features but would still be secure. I was set up in time for him to return from work. Warmer now, and with afternoon breezes, but by being closer the effect of the light wind was canceled out. He milled about in the house for a while, then came to sit on the balcony with a drink in his hand, just like most of the other evenings. This time I had the sun behind me. Not ideal, which is why my initial attempt was in the morning, but hardly a significant issue.

Or so I thought. As I carefully lined up on the target, he picked up something off the table and whatever that something was, it was incredibly shiny and mirror-like and reflected the sun right on me. The scope does a nice job of collecting and focusing light, so that eye was now temporarily blinded. I regularly practice shooting from my off side, so quickly shifted around to use my other eye. And almost as if planned, I’d no sooner taken up a steady sight picture and started squeezing when the target flashed me again! I was effectively blinded. The center of vision of both eyes had a giant splotch in it. I rolled over on my back, closed my eyes and waited for them to adjust. It took a number of minutes. By the time I felt I could shoot accurately again, the target had left.

If this wasn’t so frustrating it might be amusing. Despite my initial intention to take the target out remotely, I decided I’m going to get up-close and personal with him. 

The next morning, I arrange to be down the hallway from his door, intending to take him from behind as he walks toward the stairs. I’ll ride him head first down to the landing; a technique I’ve used in the past with success. He comes out right at the expected time. I start forward, intending to help him fall down. At that exact moment, his neighbor opens the door right into my face. I stride full-tilt into it and take the hit right on the nose, seeing stars and blood starting to gush. The little old lady is very contrite and apologetic, even insisting on bringing me inside to clean up the blood and put on a bandage (which no doubt will hurt more to take off then it’ll ever be worth). The target walks off without a backward glance. This comedy of errors is starting to vex me. I’m beginning to wonder if this guy has some sort of eldritch powers, or a guardian angel of some type, and this is why the client was offering more money.

I take the rest of the day off. To recover from the impact on my nose and to give some thought to how to get around his angelic guardians. After a while, I decide on the direct, in-your-face approach and will shoot him in his bed tonight. I don’t know how he can avoid that; his guardians will have to work overtime. I know he generally doesn’t get to sleep until around midnight; so I’ll go in about two. This night is warm and humid. While waiting, I wind up feeding the local mosquito population; I don’t want to wear the perfume of DEET. Picking the lock is trivial for me. I check for alarms just to be sure, but my initial recon indicated there aren’t any. I carefully, silently walk through the apartment. I have the layout memorized and the small amount of illumination from the security lights in the parking lot makes it easy to navigate.

Heading down the hall toward his bedroom, I notice a light under the door. I stand at the door and listen, but don’t hear anything. I slowly open the door and peek in. There’s a dim table lamp on, but I see him sleeping with the covers pulled up over his head. I silently walk up, grab the edge of the blankets and put the pistol right where his head is. I jerk the blankets back. I stand slack jawed in a stupor: it’s a young blonde woman lying there naked! I’ve observed this place for days and never saw any sign of anyone else! I suppose he could have brought someone in this evening, my vision isn’t that great now; I keep reaching up to scratch my nose and then my eyes water from the pain.

Suddenly I hear the toilet flush in the bathroom behind me. I whirl around and the target steps out of the door. I shoot him in the heart with my silenced pistol. He staggers back into the bathroom and slumps down on the toilet seat. I glance at the woman. She not only ignores what’s happening, she grabs the blankets and pulls them back over her head! I go over to the target and his guardian angels have one last kick in the ass: it stinks to high heaven! Barely suppressing the urge to speak, I yell at him in my mind: “Turn on the damn fan you stinky bastard!” I make totally sure he’s really dead, even choosing to put another one between his eyes. Partly out of frustration but also a tiny bit of insurance, given how bizarre this job has been. I turn on the exhaust and close the door. As I leave, I also turn out the bedside lamp so the girl should sleep through the night.

I’m mentally exhausted from this Inspector Clouseau routine. At least, unlike in the movies, the bad guy prevailed in the end. Not only have I taken far larger risks than I charged for, I’m now sporting two black eyes and an extremely painful broken nose. I go back to my safe house, gather my things and head back home. It takes me about a day and a half to travel. I wind up stewing the entire time, unable to shake off the sense of failure.