In the Buff: Chapter 3

Outside, the darkness was absolute. The sight of the ice crystals forming on the frame of my window caused me to shiver, even in the warmth of my apartment.

With great reluctance, I made my way to the closet. Vincent always threatened my life if I failed a job, but he meant it every time. I donned my usual “work clothes” - a tattered, well-worn beige trench coat. Cliché as it was, the irony was that no one walking down the street could suspect anything of you for that reason. The sniper rifle was modular – detaching into three parts that fit snuggly into my inner pockets.

My stomach was in an upheaval. I had never had to do a job in anything below seventy degrees, and even then it was a struggle to keep myself from shaking, making a good shot difficult. My choices at the moment were to face the frigid temperature, or face Vincent. The last guy to face Vincent wasn't around to tell me how it worked out.

I made my way downstairs to the apartment entrance and pushed myself into the frozen hell of the downtown area. Immediately, my eyes began to water. The rising wind made walking comparable to swimming in molasses. The streets were barren, as it always was this time of night. I encountered no one on my way to the apartment building, which was only a few blocks down anyway.

Upon arriving, I observed the building closely. My target's apartment was on the second-highest floor, so a rooftop vantage point would serve me well. I spotted out an adjacent apartment that provided a good line of sight. The front door, as I soon found out, was locked with a keycard pad.

Of course, that would have just been too easy…, I thought with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

Around the back of the building, a rusty emergency staircase wound its way to the roof. Perhaps it was the sense of foreboding, or the heavy creaking of the steps, that brought a feeling of unease as I gradually made my way up.

The creaking gradually increased on the way up. The roof was still a few sets up and my feet were becoming weights from the climb. Abruptly, a step caved under my foot, startling my balance. I grabbed the railings to prevent myself from falling backwards, but that didn’t stop my right leg from wedging through the now-open gap where the step had been. As I raised myself back up, a sharp pain in my leg made me notice the newly-created gash on my ankle. Between the searing cold and the acidic pain, I couldn’t think of any situation in which I wouldn’t have rather been in at the moment.

The stairs ended and the rooftop lay before me like an open field. I made my way to the edge, the ever increasing pain bringing me to a sluggish limp. Peering over, I could see the target’s apartment lights were still on. They would undoubtedly come close enough to the window at some point for me to get off a good shot. I removed the modules of the rifle from the trench coat pockets. Assembling the weapon was made unusually difficult by numb fingers.

After attaching the muzzle, I flung off the trench coat in my traditional fashion. This would usually be a proud moment for me. At this exact moment in my previous jobs, I would feel an exhilaration overwhelm me, riling me up to perform my best. Instead, I was met this time with the bitter freeze, which felt much like a dagger in my back.

Trying to expedite the hit, I lay myself flat on the rooftop, my eye peering through the scope of the rifle. Remembering the note from Vincent on the back of the address, I peered around at the surrounding buildings. Sure enough, there was Maury a few rooftops away, watching me with his telescope. Realizing I was looking at him, Maury waved and shouted, “Hey Nudey!” to my utter disgust. Sometimes I wondered if he was receiving a sick pleasure out of this job.

Focusing the rifle back on the apartment, I waited for a glimpse of the target. A few times, I could see a shadow shuffling around the rooms, but never the actual body. It wasn’t until several minutes later that I could see the back of my target. It was a female alright, just as Vincent said. The target kept dashing about the apartment, denying me a glimpse of the face.

I had to keep fighting the bitter cold to keep my scope steady. If I missed, Vincent would make me the next target. Vincent, however, never missed.

After no sight of the target for some time, I became increasingly worried that the job was already a failure. It was just then that the target came up to the window, her face fixed directly at me. I almost dropped my rifle when I realized who my rifle was trained on. There, in the apartment room window was Chase. There was no mistaking it, she knew I was there and was looking me dead in the eye.

A burning rage drowned out any further thoughts. Vincent had sent me to kill my girlfriend. I never told him about Chase, but whether he had found out somehow was no longer my concern. Before I could comprehend my actions, I swung my rifle in Maury’s direction and fired.

The only thing I saw as I grabbed my trench coat and fled back down the stairs was Maury’s body falling off the rooftop. The truth was evident: I was a dead man.