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“I know it’s not another Lamborghini,” Connor continues. “But our resources are stretched thin tracking down Jack—”
“Then stop trying to track him down,” I interject, a hint of frustration in my voice.
But Connor remains steadfast. “It would ease my conscience to know she has the best security we can offer.”
“I don’t get it, Connor,” I voice my concern. “You understand Padraic is after her, right? He’s the only one who’s made moves to try and retrieve her.”
“You think Jack isn’t planning anything?” Connor counters. “He’s been too quiet for too long.”
“I think you’re throwing resources at issues that aren’t imminently important.”
Connor pushes forward regardless. “If you do this job, we won’t have to worry about that.”
“Who am I working for?” I say with a resigned sigh. A cluster headache is already forming. There’s no reasoning with him when he’s like this.
“Eda Romero.”
***
The man must be at least sixty years old, mobile enough to still use his cross-trainer, but the years show in the way he slowly bends down to water his flowers. There’s nothing wholly threatening about this man’s apartment or his evening routine. But that means very little in my line of work.
If I had to guess, this is someone who was formerly in the life and got out. Either through quiet retirement or with a helping hand from the DEA. The fact this man has a hit out on him has me leaning toward the latter.
I watch his movements from an abandoned car park across from his building. My sniper rifle is set up discreetly, the scope allowing me to track him through the apartment thanks to the huge windows that expose his entire living area.
It’s all exactly as it says in my notes. The target “package” was dropped off in the usual spot. Details of Eddie Forks and his daily habits were written out in code that was easy enough to decipher. Judging by the thickness of the file, someone’s been watching him for a while. They just needed me to come in to pull the trigger.
As the night begins to roll in, Eddie heads over to the kitchen. My view is slightly obscured by the smaller window, but it’s fairly obvious he’s cooking up a storm.
I find myself thinking it must be nice. Having time like this to spend on skills I’ve usually paid others to perform for me. Creating something with my hands instead of destroying with them. Maybe Roisin at my side as we spend the evening enjoying each other’s company, not worrying about who might be after us or what the next threat would be. Maybe we’d even have a gorgeous redheaded child running around our feet…
I shake the image from my head. Now is not the time to get caught up in fantasy.
There are a lot of targets I get where it’s obvious they are the scum of the earth. But watching this man attempt to remove a piece of cracked eggshell from his mixing bowl grates a little against what’s left of my moral compass.
I continue to watch, waiting for a moment of inactivity to begin my approach. I adjust my sniper every couple of minutes to compensate for the changing wind speed.
Finally, Eddie leaves the kitchen, disappearing to the back of the apartment out of eyeline. I don’t panic. The corner shop below still has its lights on, and my notes tell me he sometimes drops by for a pack of cigarettes.
Only he doesn’t go to the shop.
I watch in detached horror as Eddie walks back into the apartment with a young schoolgirl trailing behind him. She makes herself comfortable on his couch, grabbing a book from her backpack to read while Eddie heads back to the kitchen.
Her red hair twists in her hand as she focuses on the pages. She scowls over the book, little eyebrows furrowed as she mouths along with the words.
I adjust the scope with a shaking hand.
Eddie returns, brandishing a plate of cookies. He presents them to the girl with a dramatic flourish, earning him a hug from what must be his granddaughter. Their matching smiles burn through the lens and into my soul.
How many of my targets had families like this? Children or grandchildren, sisters, brothers…
How many had a side to them that wasn’t wholly consumed by the work they did?
How many would find peace in baking or gardening or spending time with loved ones?
I pull away from the lens and back up against the wall, suddenly needing the cool concrete against my skin to keep me grounded in reality.
That little girl… She looked exactly like I pictured my own child.
