Trained Solider

Target: United States Senator Mitch Jackson

Date: 18 October 2013

Time: 12:00 pm

Location: Starbucks, Upper West Side, New York City. 96th and Broadway.

Weapon: Smith and Wesson .45.

There were no more details in the email. There didn’t need to be, I knew what was expected and without fail I would oblige. I scanned the email as I always did for evidence as to who my boss was, and yet again there was nothing. Not knowing who my boss was bothered me more than anything.

Pushing that thought aside, I went about getting everything ready to kill a man that I didn’t know. I shoved the gun into the waistband of my exercise pants, not before making sure that the safety was on. I pulled the closest t-shirt over my head, it hugged my pecs. There would be catcalls from men and women but I was not allowed to respond to them, I wasn’t allowed to feel anything.

Stone Cold. That was my nickname, like the wrestler. It also meant that emotions would not factor into any of my kills. Being unfeeling also meant that when I was sent out of the country, there was no additional baggage of family or a significant other that would weigh me down or distract me. When pangs of feelings did begin, there was an electric shock that killed them. Emotions didn’t do anything good, they were useless.

Before I left, I searched Google for a picture of the good senator. He had dark brown hair with a hint of grey at the temples. His green eyes popped out at me, they were like emeralds forced into his eye sockets. He would be easy to find in a crowd, if the café was busy like I suspected it would be.

Many thought that people having witnesses made a kill harder to do, but that was not the case. In fact it made it easier. There would be too many people rushing to the aid of the victim, that none of them would notice the killer, me. Slip away. The crowd would never see me; even if they did they would not remember me when the police questioned them. That was another reason why being emotionless worked to my advantage, guilt was not in my vocabulary.

The crisp New York air swirled around me. Business men and women pulled their jackets closer to their bodies. They were weak, the chilly air felt good. My gun pressed closer to my abdomen letting me know that it was still there. One of my former colleagues once admitted that he liked the feel of a gun in his hands; he couldn’t wait to pull the trigger. Soon after the admission, he found himself full of the bullets that he had been so fond of. Too many emotions.

Starbucks was full of people when I walked in the door. The Seantor was ahead of me in the line, he was the only one in a suit. Quickly I scanned the rest of the café and noticed quite a few writers talking to each other about writing but not actually doing so. After Jackson ordered his beverage, he went to the restroom.

The lady in front of me ordered a complicated coffee that made no sense then stepped to the side. The barista raised his eyebrow at me, indicating that I should place my order. “Small black coffee.”

“That’ll be $1.40.”

“I need to use the restroom.” I walked away without paying. Everyone was yelling at me but I paid them no attention. I had a job to do, that took precedent over some inconvenience that others were feeling. I opened the bathroom door and Jackson stood at the urinal with his phone being held by his shoulder. He was very into his conversation. I pulled out my gun and pointed it at him.

“Holy…” He dropped his phone and I shot it. “Listen I don’t know who sent you, probably Martha. Tell her that you are not going to scare me into staying married to her. Do you know what a bitch she is? My life has been a living hell ever since I married her. It would almost be a relief to die than have to think about spending another night in bed with her.”

“Then today is your lucky day,” I walked up to him, pressed the gun to his temple and watched as he peed on the floor. When he finished I pulled the trigger and he slumped to the floor, he green eyes looked up at me with shock and fear. After a long few seconds, the lids closed and blood pooled around his lifeless body. Quickly I wiped my fingerprints off the gun, and then placed it in Jackson’s hand. “I’ll never understand why others have this insane need to feel all the time. It’s their downfall.”

There was no crowd milling around the bathroom, everyone was too caught up in their own lives to pay attention to a loud sound coming from farther than the next table over. However there would be no need to report the dead body in the bathroom, either some unlucky man would stumble upon it when he went to relieve his bowels or an employee would find the good Senator dead when they went to clean the bathroom.

“Dude, you know it was rude of you to just leave like that? Some of us actually have lives that we need to get back to. I so want to punch you in the face right now,” A guy in oversized glasses and tight fitting jeans said to me. For the first time in months, I felt my blood start to boil. As if it could sense my anger, an electric shock started in my neck and made its way down my body. In no time, I recovered and went about my business.

All that was left to pay was one dollar and forty cents.