Sniper

Hooker finished assembling the sniper rifle, and looked through the telescoping sight. He could see the muzzle of the rifle through the site…damn! The scope had shifted during transit, and now he would have to spend several minutes adjusting it again, zeroing it. He pulled a straight chair next to the window sill, sat as comfortably as he could, and reached into his rifle case, in which he always carried his scope adjustment tools, a small rifle cleaning set, and a copy of Hustler magazine, for when waiting was called for. He tinkered with the scope, and when he was satisfied, he opened the window, set the rifle on a supporting bipod, and started looking through the newly adjusted scope once more, searching the windows of the building in front, trying to find his target, satisfied that the scope was aligned as he liked it. Third floor, third window from the right…there he was! Right where he was supposed to be, and right on time too. The intelligence staff claimed this guy was like clockwork, everything he did was always the same, at the same time each day. He had just entered the apartment, as predicted at exactly five thirty pm, and if the dossier was right he would pour himself a glass of Johnny Walker Blue Label scotch right now and…there he was, and through the scope he could even see the red serial number on the Blue Label bottle. Clockwork!

Hooker followed the mark with the scope, recalling the mark’s routine as predicted by the dossier. He had memorized the details of the dossier, and now, as he recalled them from memory, it was like watching a familiar movie, as the mark did exactly what he was supposed to do, at the time he was supposed to do it, in perfect sequence, step by step. The mark moved to the window to look outside, then went to the TV and turned it on, and would watch CNN for five minutes, sipping scotch, sitting in front of the TV, with his back turned to the window, the back of his head his only part visible over the back of the sofa. This was the perfect opportunity for the shot…

Hooker could not believe this guy! He did exactly as the dossier predicted, and Hooker knew that the guy would spend five minutes watching the news before getting up and going to the restroom where he would spend ten minutes, and then come back out, sit down to watch the news for another hour, and then… well, it wouldn’t matter what else he usually did afterwards, not tonight. Hooker smiled and shook his head… this guy was just too easy. How the hell did this guy make it so far without getting killed? He had been chased by he Agency for so long, and the guy new it! So many others had failed before. Well, he had never been targeted by Hooker before, and today his luck had run out.

Hooker put his right index finger on the trigger, applying no pressure yet. He placed the center of the scope’s crosshairs squarely on the mark’s head, at the occiput, the head’s posterior protuberance just before the neck begins. He controlled his breathing, still smiling, one more breath, two more breaths, then hold the breathing, not quite in full inspiration or expiration, the lungs half full, and the trigger finger tension increasing ever so slightly so that the shot is unexpected and the motion of the trigger pull doesn’t jerk the rifle in the moment of truth…

He couldn’t do it. Not yet. This guy fascinated him, he just couldn’t believe that the intelligence guys had gotten it so right for a change. Hooker wanted to watch this guy, see if it hadn’t been just a fluke, wanted to see if the guy really would follow through with the rest of the ‘schedule’, couldn’t just kill him yet. He timed the guy, knowing that in three minutes now, if the dossier was correct, he would get up from the sofa and go to the can.

The three minutes passed and, as expected, the guy reached forward, probably to place his drink on the sofa table in front of the sofa which Hooker couldn’t see but nevertheless knew was there. He still had a shot, but decided not to take it. He would nail him when he came back to watch more TV. He had never missed a shot, and he decided to give the guy his restroom break, as a token of thanks for being so easy. He would kill him after that. After all, nobody should die with a full rectum.

As expected, the mark got up and went to the restroom. Hooker looked at his watch, and knew he had ten minutes to kill before the kill, funny how that sounded, all pun intended. He reached into his rifle case for the Hustler magazine, would entertain himself as always, looking at some skin. He opened the magazine and started looking through the pages…oh boy! He opened the magazine to a page with couple action, always his favorite, and imagined what he would do in the male model’s place.

He looked up from the magazine at the building in front, and movement in one of the windows caught his eye. He was already engrossed in his magazine experience, but he put it aside, and turned the rifle in the direction of motion, looking once more through the scope. On the same floor as the scope, the window to the right of the mark’s, motion again, and Hooker could not believe it, a fully naked woman standing there, and she was the most desirable woman Hooker had seen in his life. Full round breasts, thin waist, guitar hips, a small triangular patch of pubic heaven where her legs met, oh my, oh my. This was too much! The easiest mark ever, and a naked woman as a bonus! What had he done to deserve such luck?

He looked at his watch again, he had time. He looked at the woman again, just standing there, thought it funny that she was oblivious to the fact she was being peeped on through the scope of a high-powered sniper rifle. The woman was rubbing her breasts now, massaging them, pushing them together, then apart, then back together again. Her hands ran down her sides to her hips, then back up again to her breasts, then to her perfectly flat abdomen. He noticed her hair now, long and dark, partially covering a heavenly face. He looked at her body once more, how she ran her hands all over it, she seemed to be giving herself a massage, sensuous, erogenous.

It was getting too hot for Hooker, his breathing was faster now, labored, and he ran his right hand to his groin, could feel himself, would have to take care of it later, after the…shit! The mark!

Hooker looked at his watch again, no, it was ok, he still had one minute left. He turned the scope to the mark’s window, the mark wasn’t back in the sofa yet. Good. Hooker turned the scope once again to the naked woman’s window, hoping the show was still on. She was still there, now with her hands at her sides, no more massage? She was looking in his direction. Could she see him from there? Nah, not a chance.

Well, back to business. He checked the watch again, it was time. He turned the scope back to the mark’s window. The TV was on, but the guy wasn’t on his sofa yet. He was late? That couldn’t be, this guy never was late. Hooker looked at his watch again. He should have been out by now. Hmmm, interesting. He would give him another minute.

He trained the scope back on the woman’s window. She was still there, still looking in his direction. Maybe she had seen a glint of sunlight reflecting off the scope?

The woman smiled at him, and waved.

What the hell? She had seen him!

No good, he thought. Better get this over with and take off…

“Hooker!”

The voice came from behind him. Hooker turned his head back, and saw the mark, standing behind him, a small gun in hand, pointed at him.

“What the fuck?” was all Hooker said.

“You always were too horny, Hooker.”

The mark fired, but Hooker never heard the shot.

The mark walked over to Hooker’s body, checked the neck, made sure there was no pulse, and then put away the small handgun, disassembled the rifle, put it back in it’s case. He took the case and was about to walk out, when he noticed the Hustler magazine lying to a side. He leafed through it briefly and then placed it on top of Hooker’s face, covering his still open and glazed-over eyes, also covering the blood from the wound.

The mark left, mumbling “too horny” on his way out.

Alex Lobera was born in Canada, and works as a physician in El Paso, Texas. He takes post-graduate bilingual Creative Writing courses at the University of Texas at El Paso and has been published in BorderSenses, a local literary magazine. He is 36 years old, married, and has three children.

Email: Alex Lobera

Return to Table of Contents