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First Come First Served
This is the first thing I've ever posted here (from what I remember). Just found this in a folder today and went through and reworked it a bit just out of boredom. Its extremely short, but I may get around to expanding someday. Anyways, I'd be happy to take all comments and critiques if you have any whatsoever!
Joseph Munster ran his hand over the slide of the Walther PPK. Its chilled metal calmed his excited fingers. A click signaled that the bullet had successfully loaded into the chamber.
“Stop here,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice from breaking.
The driver pulled over to an empty space along the sidewalk. Streetlights and shop displays were but a mere blur in the pouring curtains of rain. Ideal conditions he thought. The pitter patter drummed heavily on the tin roof of the Volkswagen. The two sat in silence, waiting and going over the plans again and again in their minds. Cars passed in a whoosh as they drove through the puddle of an overflowing gutter. Few people were out, and those that were moved along masked by wide, doming umbrellas.
Joseph scanned each carefully, but none stood out as the target. He would know when they came, he reminded himself again. Minutes passed. From the opposite end of the street, a trio of businesslike men approached through the storm, and turned under an outstretched awning where a young server greeted them. Joseph noted the change of an arm towel from the left to the right before they disappeared into the golden glow of the café. It was the predestinated signal.
He counted the two minutes off before stepping out into the night. Rain pounded on the rim of his hat, and fell from the rounded lip in a constant flow. He plodded forward through the puddles, for there was no way around. The PPK lay hidden just inside his overcoat, but his hand tight on its grip.
Joseph peered through he main window from a distance. The café was not particularly crowded for a weekend night, probably due to the rain. He picked out the three men sitting rather close to the window. The first one, a tall man with damp hair, sat on the far right with his back to Joseph. The middle man looked bloated and fat under his stretched suit, and was facing directly toward him; he was the target. The third was another short man, but with much less bulk to him. The young waiter took orders on a piece of paper, and laughed and talked with them for a few moments before moving into the kitchen in the back. Glares covering the inside windows prevent the fat man from seeing the threat standing just outside.
Joseph let a lone woman pass before he slid the pistol from its hiding place, and held it firmly in a double handed grip. His right eye lined with the small stubbed sites, then through the peeling paint of window letters, and finally on his target. The fat man laughed with another toothy grin. Joseph paused a second, noticing the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He felt weak, as if he would collapse. Inhaling another lung full of cold air seemed to help calm his nerves.
Now, he thought. Joseph pulled the sites back on the fat man’s head, and squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times. The small arms pistol barely recoiled as the three shots left the barrel, but the reports were thunderous. Everything proceeded in slow motion. Through the falling glass and rain he watched as the man slumped over in his chair. That was all he needed to see to confirm his mission as a success, and turned back to the Volkswagen. Screams of panic from inside were muffled out by the thrumming rain.
He slammed the door shut, and the driver promptly started the engine. They took off slowly, driving at a casual speed. Men, women, and children streamed out of the doorway in a stampede of fear. Among them was the lank man, standing nearly a half foot above the rest. He watched their vehicle fixedly as it moved away down the boulevard until its taillights vanished in the falling rain.
Joseph turned back, breathing hard and trembling. He peered over at the driver who was smiling in the orange glow of the dash. Joseph leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes, not sure of himself anymore, or who he was becoming. Nonetheless, orders were orders and the target eliminated.
They paused at an intersection before turning, blending in with the hustle and bustle of another Saturday night in downtown Chicago.
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"Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness."
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