Friday, August 10, 2012

Star Whacker-12

Assassination is a lot like being a submariner on a military boat: there are long stretches of tedium, punctuated by (mercifully) brief moments of sheer terror. I knew at this time that I’d been very lucky, in that I still had not been noticed by my rival. All that I could tell is that he believed himself to be the only serious operator, and all he had to worry about were the cops and the Feds. For the cops, he’d unleashed the crazy street-level hitters and wanna-bees; they kept the local cops, the county sheriff, and the state patrol very business. For the Feds, he leaked half-truths about security to the ambitious syndicate-type hitters looking to enter the big time; that kept them, by way of Homeland Security, busy. With the majority of law enforcement personnel distracted, this guy felt himself safe to operate.

He did opt for a bomb, and he did opt for bombing the target’s stage. Since he personally oversaw the stage’s setup, and knew the target’s show routine, he knew exactly what to rig to fail by bomb such that death-by-debris would be certain. I knew enough, having known enough stage techs, to know where to look; I found the device rigged on a row of lights directly above where the target stands. As part of my final set of “What do you do?” fluff pieces, I talked to the chief light tech on the tour and got him to take me to where that bomb had to be- and when we got there, I pointed it out as being a bit out of place. (“Is that supposed to be there?”) The guy didn’t figure it to be a bomb, but instead as just a timer attached by putty; he cut the putty—the explosive—down to about half its charge by taking off the edges. (“Yeah, that’s a lot of adhesive. You’ll be fine by just running a finger around the timer and reattaching it.”) I played dumb; since he didn’t take me that seriously, even if he liked me, this was easy.

When the show when on, and the bomb went off, it didn’t drop the light right away. The noise of the show muffled the blast, and the light show below concealed the flash, so no one noticed what the matter was until the light did fall once the target moved away. That panicked the crowd, and then cops appeared on stage announcing an immediate arrest; this also meant that the show ended right then. In the aftermath, I slipped the drug into the target’s water and waiting for the heightened heart rate and respiration to accelerate the drug’s hallucinogenic effects into full form. The target’s unstable emotional state went out of control, and went violent in short order. Fortunately, I had already left the room at this time, so I was not in danger. Instead, the target attacked the children; I called the cops, and the cops had to gun down the target in self defense.

A week later, a courier arrived at my place to deliver a package. It was a briefcase, and within it I found gold bullion. Shortly thereafter I took a Skype call; it was my patron, congratulating me.


“You’re worth it, Mr. Smith. Suicide by cop? Inspired, Mr. Smith. We are impressed, and we will be calling on you again.”

Shit just got real.

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