Little Red Letters, Page 3
I sit on a low building across from an intersection that Mrs. Burough takes every morning to get to work. I look down the street in anticipation for the black limo that should be topping the little hill in a few seconds. Right on time the sleek limo pulls up the hill and down it with no traffic to impede its way. "Time to set up." I whisper to myself. Maybe it's my own way of pepping up my heart before I do an assignment, but I always talk to myself before these types of things. With a cool head I kneel on one knee, my bow raised perpendicular to my body and an arm reached behind me grasping for an arrow.
The limo is just a block away when I engage the bow with the arrow. My fingers glide over the light blue feathers and pull hard on the string, touching the kisser to the corner of my lips. I do not need a scope or any form of eye enhancement. My mind and eyes do all the work. It is twelve past eight when the limo pulls to the side of the road with smoke pouring from the hood. Riley, in a nice suit and limo cap, pushes through the car door and goes to the hood and pops in open. More smoke pours out. He stands there, looks at his watch then up at the buildings, searching for my hooded figure. His eyes lock with mine. He nods and swiftly walks toward an alley between my building and the one next to it.
I hear Sandra shouting from the limo. She can't get out. I take a deep breath and release it, along with the arrow. It finds its target, the limo, and explodes into orange and red flames, licking up at the sky with its fiery tongues. Black smoke is everywhere, just like the car. "It is complete." I say and make my way down the side of the building using their fire escape. I shed my hooded cloak to my suit and skirt, pull some black heels from a box and put my hair up with a pen. In seconds I am someone new. A worker and a citizen. Someone in complete shock and hysteria at what I just witnessed. A kind officer who had just got there guides me to where I should be standing behind the police tape, his name tag reads "Riles" and his eyes give me a knowing look. The real police will be looking for the murderer from far away. No one will expect the murderers to be at the scene. Riley tips his hat as I duck beneath the police tape where I watch the fire department, police and ambulance pull in, trying to clear away the debris and look for the remains of the body. It was determined that her gas tank exploded. I breathe a sigh of relief to know that my arrow and its explosives were undetectable.
Soon the mass of bodies that gathered, offering to help or just to sate their curiosity became to much for me. I left and so did the officer. No one could tell us from another person. We blended perfectly. We were not just there, we became the witnesses. Took interviews with the news reporters and told how shocked we were to see what had happened. We were flawless.
I finally make it to my house (after collecting my things in the alleyway of course) and find that another letter has been slipped through the mail slot. High Point, Celebrated, Archer, Miss Weaver was written with blue ink. Payment. I tear through the envelope to find that one hundred thousand dollars has been wired to my account. I stand there, mouth agape at that letter. Never have I received that much for a service. Never. The most was ten thousand, but that was for a low rank official in the military. This was a government worker, someone who lived on the country's tax dollars. Immediately I feel guilty about the money and think about sending it back, but I know I will not do that. I am too selfish.
I am selfish. I am expendable. I am rich. I am indebted. I am deadly.
