Sniper shot

He squeezed the gun a little tighter, trying to ignore his sweaty hands. His whole body felt like it was melting. The heavy black FBI uniform was impractical. He had on a bulletproof vest, but he was lying flat on the top of a building, the sun hissing down on him, slowly cooking him from the inside out. He shifted uncomfortably. This is what he excelled at, but it was so boring. He was sure it was much more exciting on the ground; he had heard people screaming over the walkie-talkies until he had turned it off. It had been giving him a headache. He shifted again and loosened his grip on the sniper gun. There had been no movement in the office building for a very long time. He let his thoughts drift as he glanced at the scene before him: cop cars everywhere as well as FBI agents perched on top of and in buildings. People, he decided, were idiots. Crime created these human beings who, thinking they are invincible, decide to rob a major corporation like this one. People who thought they were genius’ and when they were caught, found out how really stupid they were. Suddenly, a small shift in the curtains snapped him to attention. He flipped on his COM and said quickly, “I have movement on the, uh, forth floor, east wing.” He heard a groan on the other end. “Gillman, how long has your COM been off?” he muttered. Gillman winced. “Um, well, a little while. I don’t know.” “It’s a hostage.” He paused. “Don’t shoot her.” He added with a half laugh. Gillman smiled, still tense. “How are negotiations?” He asked, trying to fill the empty space. “What?” he heard on the other end. Suddenly, a shot rang out from the building. The hostage, who had been cowering in the window, fell limp, blood spattering the window. “Oh shit!” he heard screamed over the other end. As the woman fell, she pulled aside the panels of the curtain, slightly revealing another person standing there. “Gillman, take the shot! Take the shot!” Gillman sat perfectly still. Not out of fear, or guilt, or even just hesitation. He knew that wasn’t his man. He could tell. “Take the fucking shot!” was the desperate command screamed at him. Gillman continued to pause. Suddenly he saw the shadow of another person approach. All he saw was the shadow, but he was sure that was his man. He could see the tiny laser dot aimed on the glittering window. All heat was forgotten. He took a breath, drowning out the screams on the COM, and squeezed the trigger confidently. There was very little sound, or at least, not to him, until the bullet smashed through the glass. The entire window shattered sending sparkles of light in every direction. He could see the body fall, and all sound came rushing back. Sirens and screams echoed throughout the street. Briefly, he wondered if he had shot the wrong person. He watched as the FBI agents burst into the room and heard their confirmed statements aired over the radio. He had gotten the right one. Thoughts flashed quickly through his brain. As soon as one thought flashed in, another pushed it out. But one theme remained. “Who was this guy?” He knew he shouldn’t feel bad; this guy was holding a bunch of people hostage for money. But still… he had a family. Was his mom watching when Gillman took the shot? Was the guy’s wife or girlfriend screaming at the TV; hoping against hope that it wasn’t him in there? Was his best friend staring in horror at the TV across the bar, begging the bartender to turn up the volume? What had pushed him to this point? What had forced him to take an office of innocent people hostage, just for money? Gillman sighed and laid the gun at his side. Slowly, he stood up. His body was exhausted from having been tense so long. He stretched as the door to the roof burst open. People poured out, all patting him on the back. Gillman’s chief walked over and slapped him on the back. He said something, but Gillman wasn’t really listening. His thoughts were still on the man’s mother and best friend.