Bull's Eye by Sandra Ruttan

Ain’t nothing that makes my heart pump faster than the feel of cold steel against my skin as I line a target up in the crosshairs and rest my finger against the trigger. It’s what I live for. I crouch down into position on the edge of the rooftop, a good ten minutes early.

If there was snow on the ground it’d be a goddamn Christmas card picture. You know, the kind o’ scene they’d shoot for some fuckin’ Hallmark card, some sappy photo triggerin’ sentimental bullshit feelings about family, love, turkey dinners an’ all that.

If there was snow, that’s what I’d be thinkin’ ‘bout. But there ain’t.

Nope. Just me here, in the pre-dawn hush. Monday morning’s are always like this, things takin’ longer to get goin’, nobody wantin’ to drag their sorry ass out of bed to start another work week.

‘Cept me. A job’s a job, and for what I make I’d be out here at 3 in the fucking morning in the middle of a hurricane if that’s what the boss wanted.

Yeah, the boss, he treats me right. Knows it ain’t easy, getting guys who’re solid, ready to go 24-7, and who don’t mind this kind of work. I mean, it ain’t for just anybody, right? What is? Some guys, they want their 9 to 5 life.

Me, I’m just a man with a talent. My dad, he was always sayin’, “Why try bein’ what you ain’t? You find one thing you’re good at, an’ learn to like it.” Still, I thought for a while I’d maybe try settlin’ a bit. Went army, did the drill, but it didn’t take.

Nope. One big clusterfuck and I’m out the door. And where’s a guy like me gonna go when the head doctor says I ain’t fit? Train ya to kill and then kick you out on your ass with nothin’.

Dad would be damn proud to see me now, though, him bein’ the one who first put a gun in my hands and taught me to shoot.

Been doing this almost ten years. Other guys talk ‘bout winnin’ the lottery and stickin’ it to the man, but the only job fantasy I e’er had was to have one of them look up, just before it happened, so I could put a bullet right between their eyes.

I musta played it out in my mind a thousand times. Always looked just like it does today. A day crisp and cold enough so you see a white puff when you blow your breath out. Like smokin’ ice air. I’d be in position, like I am right now, waitin’.

Waitin’ for the moment when they come down the street or through the park or step off a bus or whatever. Just waitin’ for the moment they don’t see comin’.

‘Cept the last one. Fuck. It wasn’t like I’d dreamed it, but there she was, walkin’ across the square. Those fuckin’ long legs in the high boots that zipped up the side and the short black leather skirt.

God damn waste of a woman, that’s what I was thinkin’ when I drew a bead on ‘er. The legs, a firm chest filling out the tight, white shirt her open jacket showed off and long black hair. It was one of those times I had to tell myself that if she looked up she’d have a face like a basset hound so that I could do ‘er. I mean, I’m good at doin’ this shit and all but I don’t have to feel good about poppin’ off a totally fuckable broad.

I’d checked my watch, made sure everythin’ was right, just waitin’ for her to get into position when she looked up. Looked right up at me. Like she knew. I swear I was lookin’ her in the Goddamn eye and she smiled. Not like some kind of radiant smile, not like I knew she was capable of. I mean, she wasn’t no mutt. One look at ‘er and she wasn’t just fuckable. She was fuckworthy. An absofuckinlute tragedy not to do her before I did her in.

And there she was, just lookin’ at me. Didn’t even slow her step. The smile was, you know, that kind of small smile. Like when someone knows things aren’t gonna go the way they’d like but there isn’t a damn thing they can do to change it. I just knew that she knew that I was there for her. Sounds crazy, but I’d’ve sworn on a stack, and no fuckin’ way I’d call myself religious. Not doin’ this for a livin’. If there’s a God, I’m on the seriously fucked list.

Anyway, I told the boss later a pigeon flew at me, which wasn’t complete shit, but in all these years on the job I ain’t ever shot wide before. Took three shots to get her, and then it was right in the chest, the blood seeping out over her perfect, round breasts. Didn’t need no scope to see that, even from where I was.

Wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. They’d wanted the head.

I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut for a second to push the image of her out and then glanced at my watch as I ran the back of my hand across my nose. Since I had those gloves on, the kind with the fingers cut off, the snot streaked across the black wool.

Fuck is wrong with you, Teevo? Get your shit together, out here gettin’ all choked up over some dead bitch.

I couldn’t afford to screw this up. Not after how mad the boss was about the last one. Other jobs, you fuck it up, it’s like whatever. Like they don’t really give a shit about it. But this work, it gotta get done right. The boss don’t like mistakes.

Gotta be wonderin’ what the hell is wrong with me though, getting’ all bent outta shape over a job. She ain’t a fuckin’ woman, Teevo, just a job. Just what you do to get paid.

Just a job. Yeah man, you keep tellin’ yourself that.

I glanced at my watch again. Fuck, this one’s late. By now I should see ‘im coming down the sidewalk.

Breathe in, blow out, breathe in, blow out the icy white cloud, breathe in…

I do that until the cold is burning my lungs, then look at my watch again. Fuck, this one is really late. Like they called in for a sickie or some shit. Don’t matter what the reason, my boss will have my balls if I don’t check in when I’m s’posed to.

I mean, other jobs, you fuck it up and it’s maybe some paper in a file reprimanding your ass formally but nothing comes of it. Government job fuckin’ up usually means a promotion. But it ain’t like that with this. You screw it up and you’re in serious shit. You got some mad ass motherfucker raggin’ on you because he wants someone to get killed and you didn’t deliver. And if he’s all pissed enough to kill someone, it ain’t like he’s a forgivin’ type, is it? No fuckin’ way. He’d just as soon cap you himself and keep his money.

That’s why you gotta work for a boss. Someone who’s gonna keep the customer happy and keep you from gettin’ your ass kicked, ‘cos it’s true it’s hard to find guys who can do this, who’re good at it, who want to do it but it’s also true it’s risky. Lotsa guys don’t have the balls for it, but then they don’t wanna pay up. When that happens, the boss takes care of ‘em, and I still get my money.

I look at my watch again. Ten seconds until I’m supposed to put one in this guy’s Johnson. Second shot to the stomach.

This one, I bet he was foolin’ around. Sounds like some bitch takin’ him out for sure, wantin’ him to get it in the gonads first.

I roll my head from side to side, workin’ the kinks outta my neck, then pull the gun back into position, lookin’ through the scope.

Nothin’.

Fuck.

I scan the faces one by one, but I already know he ain’t there. All these years doin’ this job I learn my target.

Fuck me. I lower the gun, lift my hand and check the watch, then look up, across the square to check the time against the clock tower.

And then I know. The truth hits me a split second before the bullet splits the skin and knocks me back on my ass, my last breaths nothing but puffs of white smoke rising up into the sky.

* * * *

“Damn Phoenix. I mean, I liked him and all, but when you fuck it up, your boss don’t take no shit, right? And that shot was on. You see that motherfucker fall? Bam, lights out Teevo.”

Phoenix cracked a grin as he lowered his rifle. “Sweet.”

He’d always wanted to get one right between the eyes.

© Sandra Ruttan 2007 All Rights Reserved