The Blonde Problem

In the thirty-third hour on the roof, his focus was as intense as it had been in the beginning. Mac had been personally requested. He’d been dispatched to Chickasaw County to solve a problem. 

         Mac lay in a shadow on a roof two blocks from the Sherriff’s Office. His rifle was aimed precisely at the tile displaying the office information and current Sherriff’s name. He knew the tile rested five feet and five inches from the ground. Soon his five foot ten problem would walk in front of that tile en route to the courthouse.

         His instructions had been very clear. Under no circumstances could he let their problem talk to anyone.

         Mac spotted the blonde twenty three year old through the front window. He had waited long enough to form a blister on his trigger finger. He couldn’t rush this shot. He had two escape routes memorized. Wait. Wait. He needed the girl to walk in front of the tile.

         The blonde wriggled her hands in protest to her handcuffs. She followed an officer and led an attorney.

         Mac thought about the escape route. How far would he be able to go through the woods in an hour? Four Miles? Five Miles? Would the police barricade the streets five miles out? Could he afford to use his stashed car? Should he walk the thirty miles to the next town?

         The officer pushed the door open and held it for the blonde problem and his attorney. The blonde looked up at Mac’s roof as if she knew he was there.

         Two more steps to the tile, Mac thought.

         The blonde grinned at the attorney.

         Mac fired. The attorney winced for half an instant before his head flew into the tile set in brick. No one had talked.