Men (or women) at work. Last week’s snippet worked for this category too — working on a farm is hard work, twenty four/seven. Today, though I’m featuring Troy — at work in his second job as an assassin… Oh, and an inside scoop? Troy’s opinion on laser sights? Straight from a real life sniper.
The red dot of the laser site centered on the target’s forehead milliseconds before a hole appeared in its place. Not until the body dropped to the ground did Troy McPherson lower the pistol.
“Subject neutralized.” With the call sent out, the agents positioned around the perimeter closed in. Leaving them to bundle the corpse, he walked onto the porch and surveyed the ranch bungalows along the street. No lights went on, no heads poked outside. Perfect. They’d be long gone by the time the residents of this middle-class neighborhood awoke, never realizing they’d harboured a killer in their midst.
As one of the agents pulled the black van into the bungalow’s garage, Troy tucked the gun into a bag, stepped off the porch and onto the sidewalk. He kept his step casual, just an insomniac out for a pre-dawn stroll. Up ahead, another insomniac stopped to let his German shepherd leave his mark on a light post. Once the dog finished his business, Troy stopped by the grey-haired man.
Cooper Davis, the head of the ultra-secret Brigade, pulled on the leash when the dog sniffed Troy’s pant leg. The shepherd whined then settled at Cooper’s feet, his nostrils flaring as he sampled the air. “You haven’t lost your touch. Harris didn’t even get a chance to react. Are you sure you won’t come work for us?”
“Not a chance.” Troy waited as the garage door reopened and the van pulled onto the still-quiet street. Once they were again alone, he handed over the weapon. “Here’s your POS gun.”
The bag Troy held out disappeared into Cooper’s coat pocket, no doubt to be disposed of in the Chesapeake or some nearby swamp. “I doubt Harris would like his gun being called a piece of shit. It was his favorite piece.”
That the man had been killed by his own weapon lent a certain irony to the hit that pleased Troy. “Then you’re better off without him. No self-respecting marksman would use a laser sight. They’re for lazy assholes who couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn.”
Samhain | Diesel Books | Kobo | Sony Reader
“…almost too hot to touch” from Romantic Times
Don’t forget to visit the other Snippet Saturday participants: